


If Cullens Had Kingdoms

by FrancescaFiona



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family Feuds, Fiery Stark Tempers, Infant Death, Lannister Money, M/M, Murder, Secret Targaryn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaFiona/pseuds/FrancescaFiona
Summary: *Knowledge of either Twilight or GOT is helpful but not necessary to enjoy this!*Jacob of Dorne was promised Isabella Stark. He never got her. Instead, he is promised Isabella's first-born daughter.There is going to be a war.And now, more than ever, the great Houses of Westros must be united. By marriage.However, not everyone is pleased. The fiery Bella Stark is certainly not 'appy with her betrothed, Edward Tyrell with his...questionable sexuality. And beautiful Rosalie Lannister will be sent to live in the NORTH, of all the awful places.But there's more! King Baratheon is dying, leaving his daughter, the Sighted Alice, to marry his successor. And who should it be?"Carlisle Lannister!" cry the desperate voices of the Seven Kingdoms. But kind Carlisle is not the king, so their voices are NOT heard, and his younger brother, Jasper Lannister will become king.With his famous bloodlust, will Jasper Lannister lead Westros to victory? Or will it crumble to the threat of his secret half-sister, Jane Targaryn, who plans to cross the Narrow Sea with an army. And a DRAGON.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of, hopefully, quite a few. I don't really know how this idea came to me but if you know either Fandom or story you can see how it actually fits really well. I don't own the characters or the general atmosphere of the plot but I have added some...extras of my own. This chapter is just setting the scene before the Tyrells turn up. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Tywin Lannister regarded his children over the dinner table, counting them off one by one. The brains, the beauty and the … and _Jasper._

 

The Lannister children. Heirs of the wealthiest family in Westros. 

 

And no babies.

 

Tywin sighed as he thought of the coming conflict with the Dornes. Now seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject of marriage to unite the houses of Westros. And he’d start with the easiest of his children.

 

“Carlisle,” Tywin said.

 

Carlisle was a true Lannister. Tall, and golden-haired with an air of dignity that he carried on every plane of his symmetrical face. And yes, he would always have paid his depts…if he had ever been foolish enough to be indebted to anyone. 

 

In early life, Tywin’s first-born had been a bit of a disappointment next to his younger brother who wore his savagery with pride but, in time, Tywin saw the benefit in Carlisle’s quick mind. He knew that he could die peacefully in the knowledge that the gold mines would keep running and the people of Westros would keep eating under Carlisle’s careful instruction. He was a good man and deserved a good wife.

 

“Yes father?” he answered with his calm voice and easy smile.

“A _wedding,_ Carlisle,” said his father, eyeing him sternly. “How do you feel about that?”

“… _My_ …wedding, father?” asked Carlisle, not missing the point of the question.

“A wedding for all my children,” Lord Lannister said, beaming at the metallic lustre of their hair.

 

Rosalie sat up straighter. A wedding! But Jasper’s face was unreadable as usual, though a slight frown appeared.

 

“Who have you chosen for me, father?” asked Rosalie eagerly.

As the most beautiful girl in Westros, she was always destined for great things. And when I say great things, I mean an important husband, but even so, she had been planning her perfect family for years now with great purpose.

 

“It…has not yet been decided. I am still negotiating,” said Tywin, thinking it would be best to break the news _gently_ that beautiful Rose would be heading _North._ Perhaps with a new dress at the same time would soften the blow…

 

“And…” began Carlisle carefully, trying to disguise his worry. “Who am I…?”

“Esme Tyrell,” said his father proudly.

 

There was nobody to combat Carlisle’s apparent lack of sexuality better than the Tyrell girl. She’d been practically _selectively bred_ to enhance her family’s status by marriage and she really _was_ rather pretty.

 

“She’s a good age to be wed,” continued Lord Lannister briskly.

“How old?” asked Carlisle, remembering Esme fondly, though slightly alarmingly, as the caramel-haired six-year-old that used to tear around the Tyrell garden climbing the trees.

 

“Fifteen,” his father replied and Carlisle nodded.

A good age to be wed indeed.

“When will the ceremony take place?” continued Carlisle, always the pragmatist.

“Soon,” replied his father curtly. “You are nearly in your thirtieth year. Books don’t produce grandchildren, you know.”

“Depends upon the book,” shot back Carlisle and Tywin chuckled appreciatively at his son’s quick wit.

 

Yes, Carlisle and the Tyrell girl. A good match.

 

“But,” began Carlisle, thinking of the most diplomatic way to probe the issue. “If _I_ am not betrothed to the princess…?”

 

His eyes flicked to the stony form of his brother for a fraction of a second. And yes, he was correct. 

 

After no tantrums, Carlisle accepted his younger brother as his next king. Tywin gave a shadow of a nod and Jasper, who missed nothing, stiffened even more. Rosalie, who was less in-tune with her siblings, was left behind.

 

“Who _is_ marrying Alice Baratheon then?” she asked impatiently.

“Rosalie,” said Carlisle, trying to keep his voice even. _“Jasper_ is.”

 

“What, _now?”_ she asked with a frown on her perfect brow.

Her father nodded.

“With the King’s health declining and only a daughter,” began Lord Lannister. “He would like to see a successor in place before he dies.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I thought Emmett Stark would marry her,” she said carelessly.

 

Tywin’s sudden look of discomfort told Carlisle and Jasper _exactly_ why Lord Stark was not available to wed the princess.

 

“Yes, well…” tailed off Tywin evasively. “Then the North would have the throne, and we can’t have that, can we?”

Rosalie agreed with a sneer. Her distain for the North was well known. 

 

Oh dear.

 

The North was something discussed either with a bitter smile or a sigh of defeat. A cold stretch of moorland with nothing but the scandal of the Stark family to keep anyone entertained. But to give the story it’s dues, it was _extremely_ juicy.

 

It started after William Martell of Dorne, had tragically lost his wife, mother of his eight children: Jacob, Sam, Quil, Embry, Paul, Jared, Leah and Seth. He was so transformed with grief that he decided to journey North to the wall and take up the Black, earning him the nickname ‘Billy Black’. However, he never made it to the wall as during his stay at Winterfell before beginning the last leg of his long journey, he found comfort in Renée Stark, _Lady_ of Winterfell.

 

Renée Stark ran away with Billy Black but she too died, of fever. To ease Billy’s loss, it was _alleged_ that she promised the hand of her only daughter, Isabella, to Billy’s eldest son, Jacob Martell, known now as _Jacob_ Black, while she died in the Dornish’s arms. However, Charlie Stark, Warden of the North and husband of Renée was having _none_ of it and after refusing Jacob _Isabella,_ he declared war on the Dornish.

 

And he had every right to do so, but, _logistically,_ this was undesirable, with the North in the…well, in the _north_ and Dorne in the _south_. Two armies treading a continent to mush. Not good. So that was when King Baratheon, Tywyn Lannister and Olenna Tyrell stepped in. The agreement reached between all parties was that instead of _Isabella,_ Jacob of Dorne would get her first-born _daughter_ as soon as she was old enough to be without her mother and she would be brought up in Dorne as a symbol of Billy Black and Renée Stark’s love. And of peace between Dorne and the rest of Westros.

 

But the agreement wouldn’t last. And with this fabled _Targaryan_ girl across the narrow sea, Westros must be united. And hence the coming weddings.

 

“So we will be royal?” asked Rosalie hopefully, unaware of the pressure on all houses to unite in strength.

“Yes, I suppose,” said Carlisle, feeling sorry for his brother.

Rosalie smiled her happy golden smile.

 

“But not yet,” said Tywin. “The weddings will take place in one month, allowing for the journey from Winterfell to King’s Landing … though the Tyrells should be there any day now. The royals will arrive in the capital the day before the wedding. We will begin _our_ journey to the capital either tomorrow or the day after.”

“So soon,” said Carlisle, looking around the walls of Casterly Rock’s dining hall. 

It was his childhood home and he was a man of sentiment.

 

Jasper ignored his brother’s pang of sadness and focused on the casually suggested idea that he would meet his bride for the first time at the altar. His silence grew even more silent.

 

Rosalie, as usual, ignored both of them.

 

“And why will there be a party from Winterfell?” she asked.

Carlisle winced at the slip of his father’s tongue, one that he would have been too careful to make himself.

“Isabella will marry Edward Tyrell,” said Tywyn quickly.

 

Rosalie gave a little huff. That was a good suitor going to waste. Although…you know what people said about the Tyrell boy…

 

While the going was good, Tywyn nodded a goodnight and excused himself to his study, leaving the three siblings to quietly ponder, or in Rosalie’s case, loudly discuss their fates.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Carlisle meets the lovely Esme Tyrell. I wonder what he thinks?

It was getting chillier in King’s landing. Winter was coming. And so were the Tyrells. Today.

 

The Lannisters waited in the lush palace gardens to welcome the family. Soon to be their _own_ family.

 

The breeze smelled of the departing summer. Change was in the air.

 

Carlisle Lannister stood beside his father, brother and sister as the carriage arrived. And, despite his outer calm, he was nervous.

 

The Tyrells arrived in style, beholden to their wealth, with their banner of a rose even _smelling_ of such thanks to the rich perfume it had been christened in.

 

First to emerge was the head of the family, the ferocious Lady Olenna whose legendary cunning and ruthlessness had made her respected by many, and feared my more. Tywin Lannister thought a good measure of both was most appropriate so advanced to greet her with a guarded, though _polite,_ mistrust.

 

“Lady Tyrell!” he cried.

“Lord Lannister!” she replied, her jolliness a front to something very different.

Tywin kissed her hand politely and they eye-balled each other, this time united in their quests.

 

“May I present my grandson Edward?” Lady Tyrell said, with a twinkle in her eye.

 

At this signal, a tall handsome man with coppery hair, marking him as a true Tyrell, strode confidently from the carriage. He was groom to Bella Stark.

 

“I heard,” hissed Rosalie to the preoccupied Carlisle. “That he prefers _men!”_

“Well I don’t care what he prefers,” snapped her father. “Because either way he’ll have to pull himself together and put a son in the Stark girl. Or better yet a _daughter_ for the Dornish or we’ll have a _war_ on our hands."

 

Edward bowed deep.

“My Lord,” he said respectfully, addressing first Lord Tywin, head of the family, then turning to Carlisle and Jasper. “My Lords.”

Rosalie was last to be assessed.

“My lady,” he said charmingly.

She held out her hand to him arrogantly, without a _hint_ of having been charmed.

 

“And…more importantly,” continued Lady Tyrell with barely-concealed enthusiasm. “…My granddaughter, _Esme Tyrell.”_

 

And this was it. The big reveal. The moment little Esme had been prepared for for all her fifteen years of life. She was going to meet her husband and he was going to be impressed. Or so she hoped.

 

A gaggle of young women exited the carriage but Carlisle could instantly pick out the one destined for him. The prettiest and most scared one. She was scarcely even _dressed_ and, as she was pushed forwards towards the waiting Lannisters, Carlisle felt pity for her. 

 

She was delicate as a rose petal and her betrothed didn’t doubt that she would feel just as soft. Her cheeks were also tinged pink with shame as she felt the eyes from all directions that were raking her soft curves up and down. Even the guards had imaginations and, unlike Rosalie, who was a little jealous of the younger girl, Esme didn’t _like_ to be looked at which made the whole thing even more tragic. She was trembling with nerves, or maybe cold as she glanced at the waiting Lannisters with barely-concealed alarm.

 

You _poor_ thing, thought Carlisle. I am going to buy you some _clothes._

 

After she had made the torturous walk towards the Lannisters, under strict instruction she repeated her brother’s greetings though with Carlisle last so he could get a _good_ long look at her.

 

“My Lord,” she said, curtsying deep in one graceful sweep.

“Esme Tyrell,” he replied as kindly as he could to the blushing girl. “Welcome to Kings Landing. You have been eagerly awaited.”

He bent to kiss her hand lightly and smiled encouragingly.

 

You’re doing so well, he thought, wishing he could push the words into her head.

 

Esme’s brother smirked at her shyness which was not a trait that he had struggled with himself.

 

“Yes, a … _warm_ welcome,” said Tywin, also wondering where she’d left her overclothes.

“I thought Carlisle would like her,” said Lady Tyrell, taking her granddaughters hair in her hand as if to weigh it, gauge it’s value.

 

Rosalie raised her eyebrows in… _polite_ amusement.

 

“Lord Lannister,” said Edward to Jasper. “May I congratulate you on your own engagement?”

“Yes,” replied Jasper, slightly raspily.

 

If Edward was hoping for an elaboration, the hope dissolved with the look that Jasper gave him. And perhaps he was right to be afraid of the Targ- _Lannister_ man. There were rumours concerning him too.

 

“We are also delighted to congratulate you on your engagement to Isabella Stark, I am very happy for you,” said Carlisle to smooth over the awkwardness that his brother had left, and not cared about.

“Yes, yes, we’re all very happy,” said Lady Tyrell briskly with an impatient swoop of her hand. “And hungry. We must _dine,_ Lord Lannister!”

 

Lord Lannister chucked in a friendly way as he damned the woman to hell.

 

“Why of course, little Esme looks practically famished,” he said.

Famished indeed.

“Please, if you will follow me…”

 

Lord Lannister led the way to the parlour. Behind him, Lady Tyrell eyed her granddaughter sternly.

 

Look him in the eye. Chin up. Shoulders back. Chest out. And take his _damn_ arm!

 

Instead, Esme’s brother took her arm, after Rosalie had not been so keen for his.

 

-x-

 

At the table, Carlisle watched as poor Esme Tyrell was seated next to him and encouraged by that _awful_ grandmother to flirt with him, with a man twice her age, in what was crucially a nightdress. It heartened Carlisle to see that Esme would rather be reading a book in the corner than taking part in the frankly ridiculous waste of time and money that was the banquet prepared for the Tyrell... _delegation._

 

Esme looked at him nervously and funnily enough, her shyness was more alluring to Carlisle than the perfect pearly cleavage she had been forced to display.

 

“Now, Lady Tyrell,” said Carlisle formally, but gently. “I hope your journey was not too tiresome?”

 

With alarm, Esme noticed he was speaking to her _face, r_ ather than her rather tight bodice. This made Esme a little worried. She had been told that he’d just gawp, not that she’d have to _talk_ to him.

 

“Not at all,” she replied with practiced ease, despite the improvisation. “If it please you to hear about it?”

“Of course,” he said warmly.

 

Esme spoke with a gentle, musical voice and though she talked for a long while without interruption, she never said anything that could have been taken out of context or could have caused offence, which was actually very skilful. 

 

Carlisle watched her pink lips move gracefully as she formed her careful words, and after declaring King’s Landing the loveliest place she’d ever been (besides Casterly Rock, home of the Lannisters, of course) Carlisle got the benefit of one of her lovely dimpled smiles.

 

In his mind, Carlisle spun her hair in to silky ribbons of toffee around his fingers, but that was as far as his imagination was allowed to go, at the dinner table of all places!

 

His feelings … shocked him a little bit. He’d never been a tactile person when to came to others, but in the context of his marriage, he might be persuaded to suspend that. Might be _happy_ to do suspend it.

 

Oh! But she’d asked him a question. What did she…?

 

“The food?” she asked again quietly, disappointment in her wide hazel doe-eyes.

Perhaps he didn’t like her after all.

“The finest,” Carlisle replied with a smile and with her experience hearing the undercurrent in Carlisle’s voice for what it was, Lady Olenna gave her granddaughter the tiniest of nods.

 

Good girl.

 

Later in the evening, Carlisle and his father were in Tywin’s study in his King’s Landing residence. It was a smart room panelled with dark wood and a good place for gentlemen to discuss gentlemanly things.

 

“So,” Tywin said to his eldest son. “What do you think of the _girl?”_

 

The girl… _Esme._ With the twinkly eyes and the heart-shaped face and all that beautiful soft hair. And her voice like music and her smell like roses…

 

No, Carlisle wouldn’t share what he really thought of her with anyone. And certainly not with his cynical father who would take it the wrong way. She was _more_ than that.

 

“Well, I hadn’t realised that the Tyrells are not able to afford to clothe their own children anymore,” Carlisle said with his usual wit. “Perhaps the proposal is based upon false pretences.”

 

Tywin barked with laughter. He knew that the Tyrell harlet’s display of flesh (which may have been called trashy in another time and place) would not have had the desired effect upon his steadfast son who was a subtle man.

 

“Olenna Tyrell was just displaying the goods, as every good farmer knows to,” said Tywin, with a sneering edge. “That has always been the promise of the Tyrells: fertile land and fertile women. But the _girl_ Carlisle. Your thoughts.”

 

Tywin watched his handsome son consider the question, rolling his empty wine goblet between his fingers.

 

“She’s clever,” he said at last. “Cleverer than I would have thought. And very politically astute. I kept forgetting how young she was.”

Lord Lannister nodded.

 

“The Tyrells are bred to be so,” he said, quite darkly. “I allowed this union on the premise that you would be harder to corrupt than Jasper.”

Carlisle raised his eyebrows.

“And because you’d rather _I_ were Hand of the King, rather than _King_ when Baratheon dies…because Jasper has more…” Carlisle searched for a nice word. “Presence.?”

 

Tywin nodded.

“Indeed,” he affirmed. “You seem to be the only one who has any control over your brother these days. Our _King,_ when Baratheon dies.”

 

They both considered the idea of Jasper Lannister becoming King after he married tiny Alice Baratheon, the family’s only heir. It was admittedly rather frightening. But, it was only right that a Lannister should be the next King and Lady Tyrell had fought tooth and nail for lovely Esme to marry the heir to Tywin Lannister’s fortune and Casterly Rock. 

 

Plus all agreed that Esme was _far_ too pretty to be brutally murdered on her wedding night by the slightly more…questionable Lannister son. 

 

Because yes, across Westros, Jasper Lannister _did_ have a reputation for bloodlust. Bloodlust, rumour had it, he inherited from his _real_ father, Caius Targarian, from whom Jasper had also inherited his slightly lighter blonde hair and steak of madness. But this was just rumour. And as far as Tywin was concerned, Jasper was his true son. He was, wasn’t he? Surely… he… Yes, of course he was! How ridiculous to even consider otherwise.

 

“Have you spoken to him about the union?” Tywin asked his son.  “I can’t get a word out of the man.”

He looked at Carlisle expectantly.

“I…he seems reluctant to discuss it,” said Carlisle truthfully. “But he does not seem displeased.”

“Good,” Tywin said, satisfied. “And ... Rosalie?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I want to marry the Tyrell,” Rosalie announced to her father and brothers the next day. 

 

Since the previous week when she had received the news of her own betrothal she had been clutching at straws. Rosalie Lannister was _not_ going North.

 

“I am _not_ going North,” she snapped, rigid blonde ringlets bouncing angrily. “And Tyrell is handsome enough for me.”

“And _then_ what?” asked her father impatiently in his stiff timbre. “The Starks marry each other?”

Rosalie shrugged.

“The Targarians did,” she said nonchalantly.

“And look what happened,” muttered Carlisle under his breath.

 

Tywin sighed in frustration at his only daughter. His beloved daughter, _yes,_ but by the old _gods…_

 

“You are going to marry Stark,” he said flatly, staring out of the window of his King’s Landing lodgings, in a wing of the palace. “And finally lay our claim to the North. Now, if Baratheon had a _son,_ you would have been queen but as it is, you are going to have to settle for second best.

Rosalie was about to say something scathing when Carlisle intervened.

 

“Rose,” he said seriously, clasping his careful hands in from of him. “We marry for duty. _I’m_ marrying for duty, _Jasper_ is marrying for duty, and _you_ must too.”

He strode forward calmly.

“Now, maybe Emmett Stark isn’t exactly what you were hoping for but I’ve heard he is a good…brave…”

 

(He’d need to be brave).

 

“…Man who will give you all the comforts he can afford to you as Lady of Winterfell. _Lady_ of _Winterfell_ Rosalie! That’s an important position, nobody can dispute that.”

 

Rosalie didn’t quite manage to look unconvinced so she turned to Jasper for support, but he just stared back blankly. Thinking. He was always thinking.

 

“I didn’t _dispute_ that!” replied Rosalie shrilly.

When in doubt, attack.

“I merely wondered why I have to freeze to death at Winterfell rather than having a _nice_ time at Highgarden with Tyrell!”

 

Tywin tutted angrily.

“I will not have you marry Tyrell because we gain more from Stark,” he said, as if he were discussing a business investment rather than his daughter’s future. “And you will do as you are told and be polite at afternoon tea and start to show your own father some _damn_ respect!”

 

Tywin turned from his hawk’s view of the glittering city and strode towards Rosalie. He slammed the table with his fist angrily, though all three of his children were so used to this that none of them flinched.

 

“Now,” he continued in a growl. “I want you _all_ out in that garden to secure Carlisle’s marriage. And _that is an order!”_

 

Not long after this order was given, Carlisle found himself sitting with lovely Esme beside him as they politely ‘took tea’ in the pavilion of the palace gardens.

 

The gardens were stunning in their late-summer hues and the dabble of colour and scent _almost_ drew Carlisle’s gaze from Esme who, after having selected the tiniest morsel of food to daintily pick at, turned dutifully to Carlisle to make conversation.

 

“What pleasing weather today!” she commented.

“If you’re dressed for it,” added Rosalie sweetly with a pointed look at Esme’s ensemble of the day, a little purple slip that perhaps she had _slightly_ outgrown in a few specific areas.

 

Esme inclined her head courteously to her future sister-in-law though Carlisle could feel she was upset, having taken the older girl’s comment exactly as it was intended.

 

“Indeed a beautiful day,” agreed Carlisle firmly, giving his smirking sister a _look._

 

Esme then fell silent, still embarrassed and tried to covertly pull her bodice up slightly while nobody was looking.

 

Carlisle was looking.

 

“It’s fine,” he muttered quietly to her as Tywin began some lecture about the bank in Esos.

She looked at him gratefully and began, again, to pick painstakingly at a lemon cake while Carlisle, who had eaten several by that point, watched with a horrified fascination.

 

Esme clearly _liked_ the cake, Carlisle could tell, and she almost went to lick the crumbs from her fingers before remembering her manners and stopping herself. She gazed longingly at the others who were helping themselves to more.

 

“Esme,” hissed Carlisle after her grandmother had given her a stern look which said ‘greedy guts’. “Take another cake, they are there to be eaten.”

 

Poor little Esme didn’t know what to do, dare she disobey her husband or dare she seem greedy?

 

She took another cake, onto her plate, the same as everyone else but in one swift movement, her grandmother took it and put it on her own plate.

 

“Esme,” reminded Lady Tyrell with a biting edge. _“Gluttony_ is not attractive for a lady of your stature. You won’t fit in your wedding gown!”

 

Esme blushed.

 

“Then we’ll have to make her a new one,” said Carlisle loudly, drawing all present into the conversation.

Tywin raised an eyebrow at his usually discreet son. What was _happening_ to the man?

 

Lady Tyrell gave a shrug.

“Well, suit yourself Carlisle,” she said, with the smallest of glints in her eyes, _so_ like Esme’s but _so_ much colder.

 

Carlisle was angry at the manipulation that he could discern. Olenna was mistreating Esme in front of him to provoke a strong response from him in his future wife’s favour, which was clever, but wholly disgraceful.

 

“May I?” he said with a twinge of sarcasm. “May I _really?”_

 

“Carlisle,” warned Tywin, giving his son a characteristic curt nod which meant _behave._

 

Jasper looked at Carlisle with interest and, reading Carlise’s expression as he dragged his eyes from his promised Tyrell, with a sinking heart, realised that he wasn’t his elder brother’s favourite person anymore.

 

“I apologise,” said Carlisle, charming smile back in place. “Wedding nerves.”

 

Tywin chuckled and Olenna did too, pleased that Carlisle may be willing to cross his father for Esme’s sake. Rosalie and Edward didn’t laugh, merely shared a haughty and rather similar sneer at the expense of Carlisle, the _fool._

 

“Don’t worry, boy,” clucked Olenna. “Not surprising with a wife as beautiful and as _dainty-“_

 

She eyed Esme sternly.

 

“…As my granddaughter.”

 

“Indeed,” replied Carlisle with an impeccable expression of friendliness.

 

He lost the battle but as a strategist he knew he hadn’t lost the war.

 

“And perhaps to counteract the effects of my betrothed’s _second and third lemon cakes-“_ began Carlisle, inclining his head to Esme in invitation. “I may be permitted to escort her on a walk of the gardens, if it please you, Lady Tyrell.”

 

He really can be a slippery little shit, thought Olenna, but, appreciating the value of romantic strolls in the gardens, she nodded her ascent.

 

“Well, goodbye then,” said Rosalie caustically as Carlisle took Esme from the table and led her into the sunshine.

 

“So,” said Carlisle, offering his arm to his future wife after they were out of even Olenna’s surprisingly wide earshot. “How do you like your new home? You can give the true answer or the diplomatic one, I really don’t mind.”

She smiled at being addressed in such a pleasant way.

“It is beautiful here,” she said, glancing at the topiary, almost glassy in it's perfection. “Though a little too _hot,_ that’s why I neglected to cover myself up.”

Diplomatic answer. 

Carlisle grinned, knowing she wasn’t being serious. It was cold for King’s Landing. Winter was indeed coming.

 

Then he was struck by inspiration.

“Perhaps I could offer you my cloak?” he said. “That’s romantic enough for our audience, don’t you think?”

He inclined his head to where Lady Tyrell and Lord Lanister were shamelessly watching their progress around the garden.

“Oh not _nearly_ enough,” said Esme. “I think I was _supposed_ to seize you and kiss you passionately somewhere back by the begonias.”

She blushed a little at her boldness. Carlisle wondered if she had had a hard time as a Tyrell born shy. He supposed so.

 

Kindly ignoring her self-induced embarrassment, Carlisle removed his heavy-woven cloak and draped it carefully around Esme’s little shoulders.

“There,” he said. “Modestly and ambient body temperature restored.”

Esme gave his a small bow of the head in thanks.

“Thank you my Lord,” she said with a kind of bashful smirk.

 

What a bizarre girl, Carlisle thought. Nice though...and kind.

 

They continued their walk, passing peacocks and swans and twittering little birds that flitted in and out of the trees, a little like Esme herself. She sniffed at the air appreciatively, enjoying the wafts of eucalyptus and roses.

 

“You know,” she said. “Sometimes I want nothing more than to run off into the forest, where it’s so quiet and still…”

“And you can smell the earth and the rain on the leaves,” finished Carlisle with a chuckle. “I’ve found myself thinking that too, in _many_ a council meeting.”

“Really?” asked Esme, with big shiny eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be a _serious_ Lannister.”

“So people think,” said Carlisle, amused. “But now you know my secret.”

“I shan’t tell,” said Esme, unconsciously hanging on to his arm a little tighter.

 

Carlisel considered his promised Lady. No, no she wouldn’t.

 

“I think we’ll get along just fine,” he said, gold hair glinting in the sunlight.

 

“Warmed up a little?” he asked kindly, noticing the lack of trembling beside him.

 

“So,” Esme said, with a little less teeth chattering. “Our wedding.”

“Our wedding,” repeated Carlisle.

She looked at him boldly.

“Are we being wed with the other couples?” Esme asked.

Carlisle nodded.

“We are indeed.”

 

Esme looked away.

“Are you… disappointed?” Carlisle asked.

Esme shook her head.

“No, just…concerned,” she said quietly. “For my brother, more than anything. Lord of the Dornes, William Black, didn’t take Isabella Stark’s betrothal to Edward particularly well, did he? And that’s why we are all getting married now. To unite the houses before the war with the Dornish.”

 

Carlisle was taken aback.

“I…yes. I believe so,” he said, surprised at her correct assumption. 

Then he became sharper.

“But it would be unwise to share that with anyone,” he said darkly. “It was unwise to share it with _me.”_

He looked at Esme sternly who in turn looked down, ashamed. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, feeling tearful.

 

It was not a good thing to upset your husband, especially one who had just spoken out for you. Esme gulped at the idea that beautiful Carlisle didn’t like her and with a jolt he saw, once again, the scared child who was being forced to marry him.

 

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I forgot you weren’t one of the council members there. Most of the female company I tend to enjoy is Rosalie’s and…well…”

He shrugged suggestively. To some, the topic of politics was _boring_ unless it involved nice dresses, and often it didn’t.

 

“I apologise for my digression,” Esme said quietly. “It is not my place.”

“No, not around others, it’s not,” said Carlisle for the benefit of any interested bushes who often liked to listen to, and relay, conversations. 

“But after we’re married,” he whispered against her ear conspiratorially. “And when we are alone, you can say whatever you like.”

“And will you buy me some vests?” Esme whispered back equally fugitively, with a small smile playing on her lips.

“Yes,” laughed Carlisle. “And if you’re _really_ lucky, I _will_ buy you some realistic clothing.”

 

Esme giggled and just then _she_ was almost passionately kissed in the bushes, and _would_ have been if Carlisle weren’t so proper.

 

“So…” asked Esme, feeling cheered again. “When are the Starks arriving?”

“Should be tomorrow, or the day after,” Carlisle replied, leading Esme again into a stroll.

“And the royals…?”

“Soon after,” Carlisle replied. “And then…”

He looked at Esme expectantly.

“Then we are wed,” she said thoughtfully.

 

Thoughtfully, but _happily_ as Carlisle (who was modest enough _not_ to call himself good looking though everybody else did) gave Esme a hopeful smile, warmer than the Dornish evening sun.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does include the usage of a homophobic slur, which I apologise for, but it's going to help to build the plot. Also it's a term in the series, and I'm going for realism. 
> 
> Please don't take it to heart! It does NOT represent my own view in the slightest!

The Starks brought with them a cold North wind as they arrived in King’s Landing. Along with the first real stirrings of winter, they also delivered two of the lucky partners for the wedding, now imminent.

 

“Lord Stark!” greeted Tywin Lannister, as he strode to meet the man, perhaps a little stiffly.

 

Unlike Tywin and Olenna, Charlie Stark was of a different family _and_ a different breed of person. The Starks were straightforward and pragmatic and they did _not_ travel for a month for a gaudy wedding for no reason.

 

Charlie Stark strode forward, impressive, still clad in furs. He grasped Tywin’s arm.

“Lord Lannister,” he said gruffly. “A happy time.”

He didn’t _look_ particularly happy, but then, northerners rarely did. That didn’t necessarily mean he _wasn’t_ happy. It really was hard to tell...

 

“And Lady Tyrell,” he continued in his flat tone. “It is good to see you.”

Olenna _grudgingly_ allowed Charlie to _grudgingly_ kiss her extended bony hand.

“Likewise,” she said, though the opposite was clearly true.

She didn’t bother to be polite to the likes of _Lord Stark._

 

Charlie stepped back to view the rest of the crowd.

“And…no,” he said with a note of surprise, extending his blunt vowel, catching sight of the little caramel-haired girl. “That can’t be Esme Tyrell!”

Charlie Stark turned disbelievingly to his son.

“Why, last I remember you were this high!”

He held his arm at hip height.

 

Esme blushed a little, despite her shivers.

“It had been too long, my Lord,” she said, leaving Charlie Stark with the Northern impulse to clothe her in something warmer, _nearly_ as fierce as Carlisle’s.

 

“And you are decided for Carlisle?” he said, greeting the Lannister heir with a nod.

He didn’t _mistrust_ Carlisle, he just wasn’t a Stark.

“Yes, Lord Stark,” said Carlisle with a bow. “And happily so. I could not think of a more lovely wife.”

Esme blushed again, pleased. And her grandmother let it go. Obviously the shy approach worked with Carlisle Lannister, so all stream ahead as far as she was concerned.

 

“Good, good,” mumbled Charlie. “Oh and these are my children. Emmett and Isabella.”

He gestured casually to his side. The North wasn’t great at flowery introductions.

 

“Ah!” said Tywin cheerily. “There you are Rosalie. A fine strapping lad for you!”

 

And he was. 

 

Built like a _battle horse,_ Emmett Stark loomed over the other nobles but with a rather friendly grin on his oddly cheery face, directed at his promised Rosalie.

 

“My Lord,” said Rosalie politely, desperately trying not to look too impressed.

“Lady Lannister!” he said eagerly, taking her hand and kissing it with gusto. “I hope you’ll come to see me joust in the tournament later.”

“Of course my Lord,” she smiled. “I would not miss it.”

 

Tywin and Carlisle shared a look and perhaps the smallest of smiles. _Not going North,_ Eh?

 

“And Bella,” said Charlie Stark, thinking this romantic nonsense had gone on too long. “This is Edward Tyrell to whom _you_ are promised.”

 

Edward stepped forward with his characteristic swagger, with his handsome face smooth, though Isabella Stark saw a flicker of anger on his perfect features as he kissed her hand. This made her Stark temper rear it’s head. A _month_ she had travelled. A _month!_  All the way from the home that she was being forced to _leave_ to have this… _pillow-biting bastard_ give her a look like that! She didn’t think so.

 

“My Lord,” she said, bitterly.

 

Esme looked worriedly from one partner to the other. While Lady Tyrell turned angrily to Charlie Stark. He obviously had been spreading nasty rumours about her darling grandson to that spoilt brat of his.

 

Seeing the pleasantries unravel, Carlisle Lannister stepped in, though it wasn’t his mess to fix.

 

“You must be tired from your journey,” he said, nodding to the Stark trio. “Perhaps a rest and then dinner?”

“Yes,” said Lady Tyrell poisonously. “I good opportunity for the Northerners to adjust to their … new situation.”

She smiled sweetly.

“Ay,” said Charlie, glowering at the Southern Nobles from below his strong brow.

 

At dinner, as the Northerners ate and the Southerners talked, Jasper watched silently as the frown on Lady Tyrell’s face deepened. She kept glancing from Carlisle, to Esme, to Edward, then to Bella then back to Carlisle. She obviously wasn’t happy and as the evening went on, it became apparent to Jasper why that was.

 

Surprising to some, surprising to _most,_ in fact, Jasper was a very empathic person. He understood very well the way that people felt and interacted. Maybe that was why he found people very hard to be around.

 

Tywin and Olenna were schemers. Nasty pieces of work actually, whereas Esme and Carlisle were equally _compassionate_. And in love, though both worried that they didn’t quite deserve the other, which didn’t really make sense really. 

 

Then Rosalie and Edward. Both self-absorbed, though Tyrell was quite deeply unhappy in his own way…

 

…Unlike _Emmett,_ the hopelessly cheerful Stark who was quietly confident that Rosalie would come to appreciate him, with a little persuasion. And he was right. Jasper would have to ponder that one. 

 

And finally Charlie Stark and his daughter. The True North. Unwavering and surly, loyal and brave and frankly uncomfortable in the presence of all these other people. And by the _Gods_ Jasper could appreciate that.

 

What Jasper was also able to gauge was that this…alliance... was _not_ going to work. Charlie Stark was silently _seething_ about something and Olenna felt threatened. She thought that Stark’s Isabella may provide competition for Carlisle’s hand.

 

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t try and get along, thought Jasper with bitter optimism, so after the dinner had gone on _just_ long enough to be polite, and everyone had breathed a secret sigh of relief, Jasper sought out his brother.

 

“Carlisle,” he said plainly as his quarry was kissing Esme goodnight on the hand, with their sister leering at the gesture mockingly.

“You want a word?” asked Carlisle quietly, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” replied Jasper, looking strained.

“Alright,” replied Carlisle. “Let us retire to my lodgings.”

 

 

-x-

 

 

 

“Esme. Come here.”

Lady Tyrell gestured Esme over to her in the evening sitting room they shared in the palace.

“Yes Grandmother,” replied Esme dutifully.

 

She smiled and there were those _dimples_ again. It really would be a shame if she weren’t used to her full potential.

 

“So,” smiled the older woman. “How do you find your husband-to-be?”

“Very pleasing,” said Esme with a shy smile.

And it was true.

“Good,” said Olenna contentedly, though she still looked troubled.

 

“Is…something the matter?” asked Esme gently.

Olenna sighed. 

“Yes,” she replied rather curtly. “As a matter of fact it is. After dinner my eyes have been opened to the possibility that…”

She looked at her granddaughter appraisingly to judge her reaction.

“…That you may _not_ be marrying Carlisle Lannister.”

“Not marry him?” repeated Esme, actually rather upset at the idea. “But…but he has been promised to me! They can’t just-“

 

Olenna held up her hand to stop what she was sure would have been a lovely girlish ramble about true love and other such nonsense.

 

“The situation now is a compromise,” Olenna began, intent upon further educating Esme while the girl was still under her rather twisted old wing. “One that suits the _Lannisters_ best because they get the throne and the heir to Winterfell, but, then, again they have the most stake with three children…”

 

(Curse that useless son of hers! Only two children!)

 

“…Whilst, we and the Starks are in the same position…”

 

Olenna tossed her head like a grumpy mare as she tailed off. That damn Stark!

 

She sighed angrily.

 

“I _believe,”_ she began. “That Charlie Stark has put Bella off marrying Edward. I think he plans to wed his son _Emmett_ to Alice, making a Stark king. He would then give _Bella_ to Carlisle to secure the Lannister fortune. While Edward is stuck with Rosalie, who inherits nothing and..

 

“Jasper gets me,” whispered Esme, eyes round as saucers.

“Yes,” replied Olenna, pleased that the threat was properly received. 

She drew in a breath.

 

“What we ideally would want,” she continued, unfazed by Esme’s horror. “Is _Edward_ to marry Alice to become king, and you to marry _Carlisle_ to inherit the Lannister fortune. We’d let the Lannister girl have Emmett and Isabella Stark the psychopath but either way _you must marry Carlisle.”_

 

She looked Esme dead in the pretty eyes.

 

“You _must,_ or we lose everything,” Lady Olenna said seriously. “Charlie Stark can’t give Isabella to Carlisle and Emmett to Alice if Carlisle weds _you.”_

 

“So what …?” asked Esme quietly.

It wasn’t often that a rant like this was not followed by an instruction.

 

“You will sneak up to Carlisle’s chamber,” said Olenna briskly. “And you will _give_ yourself to him. Tonight. Give him something _so good_ he can’t give up. That way we stay in the game. Do you understand?”

 

Esme nodded.

 

“Yes grandmother,” she whispered.

“Good,” said Olenna, who had no qualms about tattering her granddaughter’s virtue.

 

She looked at Esme who had taken on a paler tinge than normal.

“And perhaps the lace slip?” she suggested.

By reputation, Carlisle would need all the encouragement he could get.

 

 

-x-

 

 

 

Esme didn’t know what to do. Well, she _did,_ but she didn’t want to do it. 

 

Shivering in her nightdress, covered with only the _merest_ of silk dressing-gowns, she padded silently to Carlisle’s room and knocked. No answer. Perhaps he was washing? 

 

She went to turn gratefully back to her own room but then she thought of what her grandmother had said. Tyrell fortune be damned, Esme was _not_ marrying Jasper Lannister. End of story.

 

She pushed the door open.

 

Carlisle’s apartment was a lot like him. Clean, neat and intellectual. It was also very honest, with not a lot of hiding places so with a sinking heart, Esme knew she’d have to wait out in the open, rather than sneaking up on him.

 

Shaking with nerves, she ventured further into the rooms, pausing only when she heard voices. She froze in terror. He was meant to be alone! Not with his _brother!_

 

Panicked, she dived against the wall. She wanted to _cry_ with fear of what the younger Lannister would do to her if she were caught. She _had_ heard the stories. There was only one thing she could think to do.

 

Taking a risk, Esme dived under Carlisle’s bed, the bed they were supposed to be sharing tonight, and prepare to wait.

 

And it was not a moment too soon, as both men appeared from the parlour, laughing. 

 

But then Jasper stopped and…sniffed the air.

 

“I smell roses,” he said in his taut mumble, his jaguar's face curving into a snarl.

Then, to Esme’s _horror,_ he proceeded to stride over to the bed. 

 

He ducked down in a flash and, expressionless, dragged the crying Esme out painfully by the ankle to display the piece of vermin who would _dare_ stray into a Lannister’s chambers uninvited.

 

Esme looked pleadingly at Carlisle from where she was sprawled pitifully on the hard floor.

 

“Was she _spying_ on us Carlisle?” asked Jasper dangerously, he knew what the Tyrells were like.

 

Esme shook her head desperately.

 

“Then what were you doing child?” asked the man sharply, eyes burning with hatred.

In contrast to his brother's fury, Carlisle sighed, sounding a little weary.

 

“She was sent, no doubt, by her grandmother to prematurely consummate our marriage,” he said, looking to Esme kindly for assent. 

She nodded, but looked down, ashamed.

 

“Then no crime committed,” said Jasper gently and suddenly the pressure on her ankle released.

 

Esme felt Jasper help her, in a dignified manner, to her feet.

“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, still scared that she might be punished.

 

He shrugged, the urge to rip the girl limb from limb had evaporated as quickly as it had condensed.

“You are not an enemy,” he said plainly. “You will soon be my sister.”

He leant down to Esme’s height, more than a head below his own.

“And regardless of what people say,” he murmured, black eyes murky with shadows. “I won’t hurt you.”

 

Esme didn’t know if she should thank him for this proclamation or not so she just nodded.

 

Jasper gave a tight smile and walked away without a word, leaving Carlisle and Esme alone.

 

“So,” said Carlisle interestedly, the scientist. “This is the _nighttime_ edition of the Tyrell uniform?”

Esme looked mortified.

“I…I’m sorry about… I didn’t…I’m sorry,” she mumbled, face colouring increasingly as she became more aware of the blush.

 

“You needn’t be,” he said softly with a joke on his lips. “It’s not your fault they didn’t make you a big enough size.”

 

Esme looked up apologetically, wishing that he’d just shout and get it over with. Though after this, she doubted things would be the same. They mightn’t even be _married._ Self-fulfilling prophecy, indeed.

 

“Will we still be married?” she breathed worriedly.

Carlisle nodded. 

“Well…yes. _I_ have no objection,” he said calmly. “And you grandmother _certainly_ seems to have no objection.”

He looked at her carefully, head on one side slightly as he considered her.

“But do _you_ have an objection?” he asked gently.

Heaven knows she was being pushed.

 

She shook her head. She really didn’t. Carlisle was the best of the three potential suitors, undoubtedly.

 

“Wonderful,” he said contentedly. “Then I will do my duty as a concerned fiancé and walk you back to your room.”

 

He took Esme’s clammy hand and led her to the door, then down the corridor to her room. He ushered her inside and to her surprise he took her face in his hand and _kissed_ her very gently, ruffling her hair a little as he did so.

 

“Please convey to Lady Tyrell my gratitude for the wonderful evening,” he chuckled in her ear, smiling as she smiled back, breathless.

 

“See you tomorrow!” he called as he bounded away happily.

 

After he had gone, Esme collapsed on her bed dizzily after her _very_   _first kiss,_ wondering in fact what might have happened if Jasper _hadn’t_ been there.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

It was the day of the tournament, part of the _festival_ that the joint-wedding had somehow turned into, and spirits were running high. There was nothing more satisfying than watching people getting a battering to pave the way for a lavish wedding.

 

Rosalie Lannister was particularly excited. Because she’d been promised great things.

 

Emmett Stark was taking part, along with her brother, Jasper (Carlisle didn’t see the point of healthy people intentionally hurting each other) and this was Rosalie’s opportunity to see for herself if Emmett was really as strong and noble as she hoped he was.

 

Next to her golden-haired magnificence, Esme was fidgeting in her seat, shooting fugitive looks at Carlisle at her other side. She was checking to see whether the events of the previous evening had been forgotten, and, fortunately or not, they hadn’t. Carlisle shared a small smile with her every time their eyes met. A happy Lannister.

 

Next-door, however, Bella Stark and Edward Tyrell, were _not_ hoping for a kiss. Not in the slightest.

 

They had been forced to sit together and did so with laughably identical scowls, he seething for some deep Edward Tyrell reason, and she because _he_ was. And also because it was too fucking  _hot_ in King’s Landing but, as a true Stark, Bella kept her furs resolutely on, their removal being considered tantamount to stripping naked.

 

Out of the view of the writhing crowd of nobles and commoners, Jasper sat immobile and resolute in the jousters tent next to the hulking Emmett. They didn’t talk but built up a kind of silent friendship based upon the enormous weight of responsibility that would soon be on both of their broad shoulders.

 

It was hard to know what Jasper was thinking. And nobody except Carlisle ever asked. But now he was thinking about Little Alice. His Princess Bride, Little Alice.

 

With a sigh he stood up.

 

“We on?” asked Emmett Stark in his Northern mumble as the crowd’s yells soared suddenly.

The blond nodded once.

“Yes,” he said plainly. “Your bride watches eagerly for you.”

With that Jasper gave the giant a shadow of a smile.

“She is sitting next to Tywin Lannister, by the Lannister banner,” Jasper continued, looking at Emmett. “You would do well to wave to her. She is fond of public acts of appreciation.”

 

“Will do,” said Emmett, bowing as low as his armour would allow.

 

Mutely, the two men exited the tent to the hoarse cheers of King’s Landing. Here were the future leaders of Westros! North and South!

 

Bets changed hands unashamedly in the audience and Rosalie leaned forward expectantly. Emmett looked good in armour. He really did.

 

Bella gave her brother only a ghost of a nod. In the the North this could mean many things, but now it meant ‘good luck’ (or deck the fucker, depending upon the part of the North you were from). Emmett however, attempted a more Southern gesture as he waved regally to Rosalie, drawing the crowd’s attention to his lovely bride. And Jasper was correct, she _did_ like that.

 

Jasper quietly sought his brother out of the crowd, a brother who inclined his head, just a little, to indicate to Jasper that the plan they had concocted the previous evening, before Esme had crept, in would still be going ahead.

 

Both fighters bowed to Tywin Lannister and the other nobles, lacking the King’s presence, and strode to mount their horses. 

 

Esme shot Carlisle a worried look as the two men were handed some rather uncommonly fierce-looking lances and their chargers beat at the sand angrily with their hooves.

 

“They…they’ll be alright?” she asked Carlisle worriedly.

“Yes,” he replied, though Esme failed to miss the slight note of apprehension in her fiancé’s voice.

He was looking back and fourth from his wiry brother to the hulking Emmett and no, it wasn’t _Jasper_  he was worried about.

 

As the bugle sounded and the charge began, the crowd was tense. Even Esme could see that these were two men that shouldn’t be messed with on horseback. They galloped towards each other and the force of the inevitable collision knocked them both off their horses.

 

“Fight!” screamed the audience.

“For God’s sake don’t,” muttered Tywin angrily.

A dead Stark son was all they needed right now.

 

But fight they did. They swung their swords like lethal iron ribbons and as sword collided with sword or shield, a great ringing swept over the palace grounds.

 

Emmett was stronger and taller... but Jasper fought with a kind of inexplicable hatred that made his opponent look almost lazy. And how did the Lannisters punish _lazy_ people?

 

Emmett was down on his knees, but still fighting, still holding his own against the battering of the deranged Tar- _Lannister_ man and, with a clever move, he managed to knock Jasper down.

 

“Yield!” panted Jasper before the giant could knock him into the next week.

 

The commoners bleated with happiness at the spontaneous fight's outcome but the nobles shared confused looks. Jasper Lannister, _the_ Japer Lannister just…yielded?

 

But yielded he had and, with a smooth face, Jasper accepted the hand that Emmett offered him to help him to his nimble feet. 

 

“May I then present the winner of the joust, and Champion of Westros….” cawed the announcing squire. “Lord Emmett Stark of Winterfell!...Who wins the title from Jasper Lannister!”

 

There was a fury of cheering as the giant Stark rose, his victorious sword in the air, and even more as he plucked Rosalie from the stands in his big arms and displayed her to the crowd.

 

“I dedicate the win to my beautiful bride Lady Rosalie Lannister,” he boomed while the said Lady lived something of a fantasy of hers. 

“To Lady Lannister!” barrelled the crowd as she beamed at her husband-to-be.

 

Tywin was not pleased about all this ‘winning titles from Lannisters business’ and he was about to scold his blasted son for his weakness when he saw the look that passed between Carlisle and Jasper.

 

_Thank you for letting him win, Jasper. Mission accomplished._

 

And so it had been. Rosalie was beside herself with admiration. To Winterfell it was.

 

Tywin smirked with a kind of fond exasperation at his eldest. Carlisle…you scheming little shit.

 

-x-

 

 

The exquisite Rosalie was beside herself with happiness. Her husband-to-be had just beaten her brother (the tough one ... not the _other one)_ in a joust! That was _unheard_ of! And he had let the whole kingdom know (well, the minuscule proportion present) that she was _his._  

 

The Champion of Westros.

 

After the deliriously happy Rosalie had kissed Emmett passionately behind the Victors’ Tent, she was led to the sewing room to spend time with the other two brides present in the capital.

 

She really couldn’t decide who she disliked more, the angelic caramel-haired Tyrell or the moody Stark. However, since her brother was marrying one and she was marrying the other’s brother (she remembered with glee) there was no choice but to talk.

 

“I think that’s beautiful!” cried the Tyrell, Esme, handling Rosalie’s embroidery as if it were a precious jewel. 

As much it might have been. Rosalie knew she was extremely good at it. Much better than the nimble-fingered Tyrell who was lovingly stitching a perfect replica of Casterly Rock to give to Carlisle as a present.

 

“Yes, it is,” said Rosalie, turning to Bella Stark who was a lot less…noble than the other two noblewomen.

 

“And what have _you_ done?” she asked, with only a _hint_ of a sneer.

Bella threw down the fabric in disgust. 

“I don’t embroider,” she said. “It wastes my time.”

Esme, who embroidered a lot, looked down, a little hurt at the dismissal of her hobby.

 

“Well what _do_ you do, then?” said Rosalie scathingly, forgetting Emmett’s relationship to Bella. “Besides scowl at your fiancé that is.”

 

Rosalie turned for a smirk with Esme but found the younger girl looking sympathetic for Bella. Gah, that was so… _Carlisle_. No wonder she’d already been in his bed! At this Rosalie _did_ smirk. The walls in Kings Landing really _did_ have eyes and ears.

 

_“He_ scowls at _me!”_  retorted Bella indignantly. “If I smile back it’ll just look like I’m slow. Or _soft.”_

The Starks were not soft.

 

Rosalie shrugged. Emmett wasn’t soft either, she had been happy to see.

 

“Maybe give it some time,” said Esme softly. “My brother is a good man and I’m sure within a week you’ll be the best of friends.”

“Carlisle didn’t take a week though, did he?” laughed Rosalie unkindly.

She turned to Bella Stark.

“Just take off those furs…and perhaps your overclothes," she sniggered. "Flaunt yourself around and he’ll be yours in no time.” 

Esme coloured.

 

 

“Excuse me,” said Esme, flushed, as her grandmother appeared, saving her from the grisly fate of a good bitching.

 

“So,” began the older woman with a sly smile when they were outside the room. “How does it feel to be a _woman_ at last?”

She hadn’t failed to notice Carlisle’s protective stance at the jousting tournament. And to her cynical mind that meant only one thing. Success.

 

“I…”

Esme decided not to lie. She didn’t know if she _could_ lie to her grandmother.

“I…don’t know,” she said quietly, looking down. “I did not share his bed.”

 

“No,” said Carlisle’s echoing voice as they heard footsteps down the passage. “She didn’t.”

Lady Tyrell looked unruffled that their handsome addition had heard. The damn _acoustics_ in this place.

 

“Lord Lannister,” she said in greeting.

He inclined his head in reciprocation.

“Lady Tyrell,” he said, turning then to her young companion. “….And…Lady Tyrell.”

 

Esme blushed under his gaze.

 

“As a Lannister,” he began in his lilting voice. “I am a man of my word. A Lannister _keeps_ his promises, and I promised my father that I wouldn’t bed _anyone’s_ bride, including my own, before the weddings.”

He sighed.

“I also promised to take Esme as my wife,” he said, without regret. “And I intend to.”

 

He fixed Lady Tyrell with a stare, very reminiscent of his ferocious father. 

 

“However,” he said coldly. “As a man of my moral standing, it does not please me to see my bride-to-be freeze and starve simultaneously in an attempt to impress me.”

 

Lady Tyrell took her telling-off with a polite nod, barely listening after Carlisle’s official acceptance of her beautiful granddaughter, a fruitful girl indeed.

 

“So for the duration of out engagement Esme is to be _comfortable,”_ he continued, no less icily. “Secure in the knowledge that I have gladly accepted her. And she will not be pushed into my bed-chamber again before the time is suitable.”

 

He paused. And there was something else he had been meaning to … Ah, yes!

 

“And she will eat all the lemon cakes she wants,” Carlisle added as a kind afterthought.

 

“Of course my lord,” bowed Lady Tyrell, gleeful.

 

Carlisle chuckled a little.

 

“And now look, you’ve manipulated me into spoiling Esme rotten,” he said, giving the treasure in question a contented glance.

 

Lady Tyrell didn’t care what she’d done, and Esme was pleased for Carlisle’s attentions.

 

“That is all,” said Carlisle curtly.

He didn’t want Olenna to think that he was in _any_ way indebted to her for his receipt of Esme to marry. _She_ had more to gain.

 

 “If Esme, you would like to return to the sewing room…?” Olenna suggested, realising this too.

 

The little Tyrell bobbed her head enchantingly.

 

“I ought to get to know my new sisters better,” she said with a fleeting grimace.

But only fleeting.

 

“Then I wish you all the luck”, Carlisle said knowingly, and, bowing his golden head over Esme’s hand, the Lannister heir was gone, leaving the perfume of wealth in his wake.

 

“Well _done_ dear!” said Lady Tyrell fondly, as she left Esme to her fate.

 

She was bound now for her _other_ grandchild. He always _had_ been the difficult one.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Baratheons arrive in King's Landing.

 

The Starks were staying in the palace as guests - they has no permanent residence there anymore.

 

Huh! _Anymore!_

 

Charlie Stark strode the battlements, (his face designed for brooding), brooding. And it _was_ a brood, not a _ponder,_ because the whole situation in King's landing had put him on edge. And made him angry.

 

Because _disloyalty_ was not something he prised, and the fact that Robert Baratheon was his friend and had chosen the Lannister family over his own hurt him in quite a deep Northern way. 

 

The King was dying, and dying fast. A life of indulgence had sat happily with Robert but now in older age he was paying the price. And the Lannisters hadn’t even the decency to wait the short time for the arrival of the Royal Death before moving into the quarters of the Hand of the King, _Charlie’s_ quarters, to anticipate Carlisle Lannister’s ascent upon Roberts death and Jasper Tar- _Lannister’s_ coronation.

 

Charlie felt sick.

 

Carlisle seemed like a good lad, his father was, quite plainly, an evil cunt but the brother…

 

Charlie shivered at the though of that brute marrying the tiny and very cheerful princess Alice. He also dreaded at the thought of that ...  _Rosalie_ parading herself around Winterfell, though really he pitied the poor spoilt lass. 

 

She was in for one hell of a shock. 

 

It was grim up North. 

 

However, Emmett seemed happy, and that was nice, though Bella wasn’t impressed with her groom. Not at _all_. And Charlie couldn’t blame her. What a flouncy piece of pastry! It didn’t seem as if he’d ever _held_ a sword, let alone _swung_ one.

 

The patting of respectful, distinctly squire-like footsteps, dragged Charlie a little out of his _thinking._

 

“My Lord,” bowed the lad respectfully. “The Royal party has just entered the city and your presence is requested in the entrance hall to greet them.”

 

Charlie nodded.

“Ay, than you,” he said as the boy retreated. 

 

He couldn’t be angry with the squire for his insinuation that Charlie wouldn’t have come to greet the king as was proper. He was just repeating the message word for word from someone else, probably Lady Tyrell who hadn’t had a kind thought in her life. By the Gods, little Esme was most likely glad to be rid of the beast.

 

Charlie strode resolutely through the castle, a place that he felt distant from now. There was too much expensive perfume lingering in the passageways for him to feel at home. And gods help him he missed Winterfell.

 

He sighed in preparation to be pleasant, or at least _civil_ to the amassed band of nobles gathered to greet the Royal arrivals after the parade in the streets. They didn’t deal with the riffraff here thought Charlie darkly as he compared King’s landing unfavourably to his own home.

 

“Alright?” asked Emmett cheerfully in greeting to his father.

“Y’alright,” Charlie reciprocated. 

 

Olenna not so quietly asked Tywin for a translation, to which he also not so quietly replied “and how would _I_ know the _North?”_ with a sneer.

 

Charlie bit his fiery tongue and nodded to his daughter to do the same.

 

“Lord Stark,” greeted Carlisle in a friendly way, sending a silent apology with his eyes.

 

Charlie nodded back.

 

It’s alright lad.

 

Before things could get anymore ‘Olenna’, the gates opened and a few of the King’s Guard in their golden cloaks marched through, like precursors to a giant golden meteorite. 

 

Which is what the Royal carriage was for gods’ sake! 

 

The giant gaudy monstrosity was so over the top and so _expensive._ It was clear why the Baratheons needed the Lannisters. The Crown was _bleeding_ money. No, actually, that wasn’t true. Robert was drinking it.

 

“Lord Lannister!” came a cry from an enormous royal belly.

 

The carriage door opened to reveal the rather… _splendid_ King Robert who towed fondly his tiny, tiny daughter.

 

Jasper stiffened. Oh dear. Oh deary, deary, dear.

 

“Your Grace,” chorused the welcome partly as they bowed and curtseyed, something Olenna did not do because she was ‘too old’, (but mostly too proud).

 

Robert chortled at the sight of the bowing nobles. How fickle they all were! But not the Starks.

 

“Charlie Stark!” Robert chuckled as he … let’s say _strode_ forward.

 

“King Barathoen,” said Charlie as he shook the Monarch’s hand.

 

“Aaaand Emmett,” said Robert, turning a pointed finger dotingly on the grinning giant.

“Your majesty,”

“Aaaaand…” Robert searched his mind for Bella’s name.

“Isabella, my lord,” said Bella, as politely as she could.

 

“Isabella!” he boomed. “Of course!”

 

The King didn’t need to know names.

 

“And this,” His Majesty continued, more softly. “Is _Alice.”_

 

Alice beamed happily at her family, _new_ family. And most of all at _Jasper_ whom she could pick out without difficulty, though she had never had his appearance described to her.

 

“Lord Lannister!” she said happily, beaming at him. “What beautiful weather it will be tomorrow for our wedding!”

 

Everyone was taken aback and Olenna and Tywin shared a worried look. You know what they said about the princess…

 

Robert chuckled.

“Good, she knows him already!”

He ruffled his little royal urchin’s hair affectionately as the others balked.

 

Witchcraft. 

 

But there was little they could say or do. This was their future queen! Not a dizzy farm girl who could be burned quickly so everyone could get on with things. The _Queen._

 

So they smiled and smiled as their stomachs churned, all the way to the banqueting hall.

 

Dinner at the palace was again a splendid but awkward affair, more splendid and awkward than usual since Their Majesties were present.

 

“I wish to sit next to my betrothed,” said Alice contentedly as she flitted to her desired place, knowing already that nobody would refuse her that.

 

“Very eager,” muttered Olenna to Tywin.

“Especially since nobody’s putting her up to it,” he shot back, allowing the two to share one of their rare, fleeting smiles.

 

Maybe the Tyrells and the Lannisters should have been united many years ago. 

 

But the wrong was being righted now. The wedding was the next day.


	7. Chapter 7

As Alice Baratheon had so uncannily predicted, the day of the wedding dawned unusually bright, painting the walls of King’s Landing gold with optimistic late-summer sunshine.

 

The sunlight bathed the rooms of the palace in a glow reminiscent of a dream or, for some, a nightmare. For what was to come that day would be an important turning point for the future (…or lack thereof) of Westeros.

 

Watching this beautiful sunrise, was Jasper.

 

As was his custom, he would rise early to gaze upon the city at it’s best - before it filled with people. Today his gaze was fixed upon the horizon where brilliant white slithers told of the waves bound for Essos. 

 

It was said that somewhere across that Narrow Sea, a Targaryan prepared to march upon the continent to claim it as her own. But when Jasper was wedded and he inherited the throne, would a Targaryn not _already_ sit on the Iron Throne?

 

Jasper sighed, feeling again the tug of loneliness he often pretended to revel in.

 

“Why the sigh, my brother?” came Carlisle’s voice, before Jasper found himself meeting the piercing sapphire gaze of his dearest friend.

“Why not?” Jasper replied briskly as he leant over the battlements, running his hand through his straggly hair. “You know how the summer heat disagrees with me.”

 

Carlisle smiled and took his place next to his brother.

“Or do _you_ disagree with _it?”_ he asked, sensing this to be the more likely explanation.

 

“It is not the weather that I disagree with today,” said Jasper coldly enough to oppose the spreading of warmth over the capital.

“Because tomorrow we shall be married men,” finished Carlisle thoughtfully, examining his palms as if to weigh the idea.

 

“…And in so many years we will be dead men,” came a voice, accompanying the strides of Emmett Stark.

 

“My Lords,” he added, remembering his manners.

 

Carlisle turned with a smile, arms wide.

 

“My brother,” he said. “I hope our conversation did not prove too cheerful for your Northern temperament.”

 

Emmett grinned.

 

“No,” he said. “I’m in a good mood today.”

“Good for you,” replied Jasper tartly.

 

“We were just discussing our plans for the day,” Carlisle explained courteously.

 

Emmett guffawed with laughter, obviously over-exited by the heat and the prospect of Rosalie.

He elbowed Carlisle quite hard in a friendly way.

“Discussing your plans for the night more like, eh?” Emmett snorted as Jasper turned to look at him incredulously.

 

“Have you _seen_ my bride?” Jasper asked the giant.

 

The smile slid from Emmett’s face under the fire of the man’s gaze.

 

“Only from above,” he answered truthfully. “She isn’t very big, is she?”

 

Jasper looked at the Northern lord in disbelief. His utter disregard for tact actually made it hard to hate him.

 

Jasper shook his head sadly, but found an inexplicable grin spread across his vulpine face. Emmett’s good humour was catching.

 

“And, er, Jasper, if I may call you that?” said Emmett quietly, as the future ruler nodded his ascent.

Yes, he may indeed.

“Thank you for letting me win the joust.”

 

Carlisle looked up guiltily. 

“Please, Lord Stark,” he began, gold hair glinting like the halo he was trying to put back on his head. We were not trying to-“

“Anything to get rid of my sister,” muttered Jasper. 

 

All three of them laughed at the dryness of his tone, releasing the tension a little. Jasper could have that effect when he tried.

 

“Yeah…” said Emmett fondly. “Though I’ll have to buy her some proper clothes, I’ll admit that I was concerned when I saw how-“

“Shit!” swore Carlisle as he remembered why he had come waking that way in the first place.

 

“Language!” chuckled Emmett, thanking the gods that his new brother wasn’t really as uptight as people threatened. 

 

But Carlisle hadn’t heard him as he had already dashed down the passageway.

 

“What?” asked Emmett. “Did he leave his bread in the oven?”

Jasper grimaced. 

“No, he wanted to give Lady Tyrell an early wedding present.”

 

 

-x-

 

 

 

Esme’s grandmother came to her room as she was being dressed for the wedding to give her a _talk._

 

This was the _talk_ in which she re-iterated the role that Esme was to play. She would seduce Carlisle, produce a son, and feed back to the Tyrells any juicy information that Carlisle offered her, while keeping the affairs of the Tyrell family a secret. The seduction and production of the son part of the plan was described in great detail and Esme felt her handmaiden, Angela, brushing her hair increasingly gently in sympathy.

 

“Don’t worry,” Angela whispered when Lady Tyrell had swept from the room, finally satisfied with her produce. “It will be just fine. I hear Lord Carlisle is very fond of you.”

“Well he has to be!” said Esme slightly frantically. “Otherwise what do I do? I can’t seduce him! He’s too…It wouldn’t work. He’d just think I was silly.”

Angela continued to braid.

“And,” panted Esme. “What if he decides…or Lord _Tywin_ decides, at the last minute that Carlisle should marry Alice Baratheon or Bella Stark instead and I have to marry-“

She dropped her voice to a whisper.

“Jasper Lannister!”

 

She jumped guiltily as there was a knock on the door. Perhaps they’d _heard?_ Perhaps she’d be _executed?_

 

“Esme?” came the muffled and rather pompous voice. “It’s Edward. May I come in?”

“Yes!” Esme said loudly, but with a quaver.

 

Edward appeared looking dashing in his wedding tabard. And suitably so for all the fuss the union had caused. He was also carrying a package under his arm.

 

“For you,” he said, presenting the bundle to his sister. “From Carlisle.”

He smirked, though rather nervously as he exited the room to dread his own receipt of a spouse.

 

Esme undid the fabric wrappings to find a selection of warm underclothes.

 

 _In case of cold feet,_ the accompanying note read in Carlisle’s neat hand. _Or anything else for that matter._

 

Esme was very touched. And the proportion of happy couples rose to an impressive fifty-percent as the hour of the wedding drew closer.

 

“Oh how sweet!” beamed Esme. “He _remembered!”_

 

 

Next door in Rosalie Lannister’s chamber, a very different conversation was talking place between handmaiden and mistress.

 

“And I need to have the nicest hair,” Rosalie said urgently but with her classic, and faintly exaggerated tone of boredom. “Because Lady of Winterfell _needs_ the nicest hair. Otherwise people will talk.”

 

Yes, she wasn’t going to be queen, and yes, she had to live in the _North_ of all places, but Rosalie couldn’t deny the sense of having the most beautiful girl in the kingdom marry the bravest and most handsome man in the kingdom. The logic was sound.

 

“Plus most of the riffraff will only get to see me once in their lives, so we owe it to them to make sure they remember it. Even if they _are_ unintelligent.”

 

Rosalie raised an eyebrow experimentally at her reflection.

 

“And also,” she continued. “I want my bodice tight so that Emmett can enjoy my slim waist before I fall pregnant, which should be soon.”

 

She sighed in a satisfied way.

 

“We’re aiming for between five and ten children,” she said.

Obviously this would happen.

“And I want at least _some_ girls so that my looks don’t get lost.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure my lady,” Jessica replied, lacing said bodice to meet Rosalie’s exact instruction. 

 

She was very, very used to conversations like these, and by this point rather skilled at keeping the note of sarcasm out of her voice.

 

And it was with daring and rudeness, considered impropriety for one of her standing, that Jessica secretly wished that Rosalie would have a very cold time at Winterfell when she departed shortly as Lady Stark.

 

And so she would. Winter was coming.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Little Alice was actually very excited to marry Jasper. She must be mad, thought…well just about everyone. Or maybe she was just young, exaggerated by her size - she was minuscule for the average thirteen-year-old even though she had been raised on all the food she could want.

 

And really, that was why the streets were lined with people on the way to the chapel. To see the grisly spectacle of their beloved little princess being given away to the Targ- _Lannister_ monster. Along with the first half-decent-looking Stark girl in a century marrying the dandy Tyrell. That made people laugh, along with the fact that the Dornish had been scorned to allow this reluctant partnership.

 

Carlisle Lannister was very popular. Owing to his kindness, fairness and good sense, the citizens of King’s landing were able to take to the streets with full bellies and they wished him the best with his Esme Tyrell who had been helping the poor in the city. And, again, Tyrells meant food. They were always welcome.

 

The last couple was of the least public interest in the South, because it involved the North (which may well have been the moon for as much as the good folk of King’s Landing cared) but Emmett Stark was good fun and jousted like a god. And, yes, watching the beautiful Rosalie Lannister, _with_ the nicest hair, did complete the spectacle nicely.

 

The ceremony commenced in the opulent chapel, the sight of which almost drew the crowd’s attention from Rosalie who had the astounding ability to toss her hair and look regal at the same time. Emmett loved it.

 

And then they were married. The couples recited their vows in turn and then the husbands cloaked their wives symbolically to welcome them to their families.

 

Esme’s cloak was red with the golden Lannister lion emblazoned on it. Carlisle gently swept the curls from her shoulders to cloak her with the garment that seemed unnecessarily heavy.

 

Double-lined velvet. Insulating.

 

Esme tuned and grinned at Carlisle who grinned back, enjoying their joke. Esme felt a strange stab of elation to know that nobody else in the room would have understood the significance of the gesture.

 

The said gesture was watched very, very eagerly by Olenna Tyrell, who in a moment of enthusiasm, showed her unbridled greed on her wrinkled face. Next to her, Lord Lannister was also gazing with a similar expression. Let there be many, many little Lannister grandchildren to expand his empire.

 

Next, Isabella Stark reluctantly neglected to break Edward’s nose as he draped her in pale-violet. The cloak was silky and frankly a ridiculous reminder that Isabella would be living in the filthy South from now on. She shifted awkwardly away from her supposed true-love to admire the hideousness of the pastel outfit she now wore. She doubted you could find a more repulsive colour in someone’s vomit.

 

Her father thought so too, as the frown etched into his face deepened. He hated what he had to do to Isabella. 

 

His son, however, looked almost _too_ happy as he bounded forwards to cloak Rosalie Lannister in Stark grey. It was in this moment that Emmett appreciated Esme Tyrell’s shy input (via Carlisle) that Rosalie may feel _silver_ to be appropriate for the situation. She smiled gratefully as she rippled like the moonlit ocean.

 

And then the royals.

 

The other couples stepped backwards in respect as Jasper engulfed tiny Alice in a golden cloak stamped with the crowned black stag of the Baratheons, a family he would have to join to inherit the throne. He stared defiantly at his audience, as if he somehow sensed their judgement upon him.

 

There was rapturous applause, enough so as to mask the mutters of discontent that swam around the room. Something was very, very wrong here.

 

Despite this, the couples, (with varying degrees of delirious happiness), strode noble-arm-in-noble-arm from the chapel to enjoy the rest of the festivities while the bells tolled, the universal gongs of change.

 

The feast that came next was accompanied by all manner of entertainment though throughout, the tension was heavy at the nobles’ dinner table. The couples were expected to retire to bed soon and all glanced edgily around the room to see who would be first, or second, actually. It was damn obvious who would be first.

 

“Here’s to a son!” Emmett crowed to the delight of the guests as he tossed Rosalie enthusiastically into his arms. “Or a daughter! I don’t care! We can have all the children we could want!”

The crowd cheered as the jousting champion spun his prize around for all to see while she squealed in delight.

 

“Not going North,” laughed Carlisle to his father.

“Not going North,” echoed Tywyn, with a smile.

Difficult daughter married off successfully. Good.

 

Emmett carried Rosalie effortlessly from the room to whistles of delight while she shook out her golden hair artistically to leave it tumbling down her back. Isabella tutted angrily while Alice twittered with excitement. Wasn’t she just so pretty?

 

She began to clap her little hands manically and since the princess was clapping, so clapped the rest of the room. Rosalie beamed until she was out of sight.

 

After they had gone, the crowd turned expectantly. 

 

“Well,” muttered Tywin to Carlisle. “I think it had better be you next.”

“Right,” sighed Carlisle tightly as he and Esme prepared themselves for the barbaric and embarrassing bedding ceremony.

Carlisle’s insistence that this should _not_ be included as part of their marriage had been cheerfully ignored by his elders who wanted to see that they did in fact go to bed and that the Lannister heir didn’t slope off to his library instead.

 

“Here goes Esme!” Carlisle said as he took her hand.

 

The crowd cheered as the handsome Lannister diplomatically steered his mortified wife through the room along the shortest route to his- _their_ bedchamber.

 

“Not that she needs leading,” smirked Bella Tyrell to Edward, in an attempt to anger him.

That was his sister after all.

 

He barely looked at her and roughly grabbed her arm to lead her through the throng of people after Esme and Carlisle.

“Daughters, daughter, _daughters,”_ chanted Tywin Lannister infuriatingly, with a warning expression as they passed him.

Edward shot him a seething look.

 

The crowd watched in amusement as the fiery Stark brushed the flouncy Tyrell boy’s arm away and stalked to their so-called bed-chamber. They doubted that Tyrell could lift Isabella Stark into his arms, even if she _were_ willing.

 

And then finally. The royal couple. 

 

The mothers in the audience could barely watch as the savage heir to the throne lifted his tiny bride into his arms like a baby bird. 

 

“Westeros,” he said, addressing most of all the king, Alice’s father. “I give you my wife. The perfect Alice.” 

There was polite applause as Westeros took a good long, and possibly final, look at their dainty princess.

 

Jasper gave a nod and with that left the room, carrying little Alice to her end.


	9. Chapter 9

 

The delighted Rosalie was about to receive an education on how things were done in the North. Which was however you damn wanted, unless it caused the roof to leak or some other kind of similar problem. Which suited her just fine.

 

Carlisle was a little more hesitant, since his own bride was overcome by a fit of shyness and got all embarrassed. However, with some gently coaxing, she relaxed into his gentle arms while Carlisle considerately explained what he was doing and why, which helped a lot - in the end, her grandmother had not been the greatest help.

 

Afterwards, they lay peacefully next to each other and Carlisle explained the movements of the planets and the patterns of the stars above them with great sweeps of his hands in such detail that Esme could almost see it. They talked and talked and wondered if there were enough stars for everyone in Westeros to have one of their very own. Carlisle said definitely, (he’d read about it), but Esme wasn’t sure. Then, with a shy giggle, she suggested that Westeros may need some _more_ little people, and their attention was diverted from the heavens and again to one another.

 

In the royal bedchamber, Jasper was not thinking about the stars, rather how on Earth a baby would fit inside Alice Baratheon. He decided, quite simply, that it wouldn’t.

 

But, even though he just stared at Alice with a kind of upset-stomach look, she kept smiling, which unnerved him.

 

“Why do you smile at me?” he asked bluntly after a while.

 

She shrugged.

 

“Better than frowning,” she said cheerfully.

Jasper looked at her interestedly and came to sit down on the bed next to her. After a long time of just scrutinising at each other, Alice tentatively shuffled over to sit in Jasper’s lap and, though slightly shocked, the savage royal did not protest.

 

“We are different, you and I,” he said suddenly. “From each other, yes, though more so from everyone else, I feel.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I know.”

 

Jasper asked something he and been dying (and killing) to know.

 

“What people say,” he murmured with a question in his voice. “About you…about your…witchcraft. Is it true?”

“It depends what you have heard,” said Alice. “I can…see things sometimes, things that haven’t happened yet. But they do.”

She turned to look Jasper in the eyes.

“But the future can always change based upon what people decide,” she said. “For instance, there was a time when I thought I’d spend this night with your brother which-“

 

She paused and gave a little nod.

 

“-Was not unpleasant but…”

She draped her arms around the transfixed Jasper’s neck.

“When your father and my father decided that _we_ would be wed,” she said quietly. “My future suddenly seemed a lot happier.”

 

Jasper looked at little Alice with rapture. Bar Carlisle, nobody had _ever_ wanted to spend time with him, least of all a woman, but here was this… _Alice,_ saying that she knew they would be happy. That she was happier with him than Carlisle, the favourite son.

 

The only son.

 

“Alice,” he said solemnly. “You should know that…that I do not think I am a real Lannister. I do believe my father to have been Caius Targaryn. I…I feel it.”

He looked down.

“I’m sorry but you have wed a bastard,” he said roughly.

“And you have wed a witch,” laughed little Alice. “So where does that leave us?”

“On equal footing, I do believe,” said Jasper with good humour, cheered by that reminder.

 

“Then…will you not claim me as your wife?” asked Alice, playing with a lock of Jasper’s fair, straggly hair.

 

He looked at the tiny pixie of a girl.

“Yes,” he said. “But not tonight.”

Alice leaned over and pecked a kiss on Jasper’s lips.

“Knew it,” she whispered and she chuckled herself to sleep, tucked in next to the ferocious, and rather enthralled, Jasper Lannister.

 

What a great success the wedding had been! All the couples h- Wait, hold on, we’re forgetting somebody…

 

The tapping of Isabella Stark’s foot was just slightly irregular. Irregular enough to drive the musical Edward mad.

 

“Could you _please_ stop that?” he asked irritably.

Bella scowled.

“Could,” she said with Northern truthfulness. 

 

The tapping continued.

 

“Gah,” Edward gasped in frustration. “Bella, please. Let’s talk about this! The kingdom is waiting for our child.”

 

Isabella rose quite suddenly.

 

“My _name,”_ she said deliberately. “Is Isabella to _you,_ because I don’t like you. Only my family gets to call me Bella, or people from the North.”

“Well,” said Edward sourly. _“I’m_ your family now.”

“You are no more family to me than the Dornes!” spat Bella angrily.

 

Edward was about to make a smirking comment about the Dornes being _indeed_ family to Isabella after her mother’s affair which put them both in this mess in the first place but he managed to stop himself. Be- sorry - Isabella _did_ look extremely angry.

 

“Actually, no!” shouted Isabella, there was no turning back for a Stark at this stage in the rant. “I take that back. I wish I _had_ married Jacob of Dorne. And then my life would be a right side better than it’s going to be with you! _We_ will have no children, and when the war comes I’ll _happily_ fall on the Dornish’s swords as the better option!”

 

The door slammed and Edward Tyrell had gone.

 

 

 

-x-

 

 

 

The next morning, breakfast was a quiet affair. It was held in the king’s parlour.

 

Esme was chatting sleepily but happily to Carlisle about the architecture in some of the more splendid Dornish temples while he listened, content. Bella was grudgingly present, looking daggers at her father, though Edward wasn’t there and shockingly enough both Jasper _and_ Alice were still alive! And they looked…well, rather happy.

 

Rosalie and Emmett Stark hadn’t made it down but since nobody revelled on the idea of telling the enormous Emmett what he could and couldn’t do, everyone thought it best to leave them to it.

 

Lady Tyrell, however, was not happy. Half her brood had behaved perfectly but the other was _missing from the table._ She sighed reluctantly. If you want something done properly, ask someone else to do it _yourself._

 

“Lady Lannister,” Lady Tyrell called to her granddaughter, who turned at the sound of her relative’s voice, rather than the unfamiliar name.

“Oh!” laughed Esme, surprised. “Me!”

 

Tywin Lannister and King Barathoen laughed.

“Give it a week,” chortled the king, slathering his bread with honey. “You’ll get used to it.”

Esme blushed at the attention.

“Your Grace,” she said, with more grace than the king would ever have.

 

“Esme,” said Lady Tyrell, ignoring Carlisle now that the deed was done. “Will you please find your brother and talk some sense into him. It’s frankly an embarrassment that he isn’t here.”

Esme nodded dutifully…then turned to Carlisle.

“…If it please you for me to leave,” she said quietly.

Carlisle sighed.

 

“Not in the _slightest!”_ he grinned. “But yes, go you must. I don’t think anyone else is qualified to deal with his fits of melancholy.”

 

Esme smiled back.

“Thank you My Lord,” she said, mouthing a kiss.

“I will be with my father in his study when you are finished,” he said. “You can come and rescue me if you’re feeling kind.”

 

Esme beamed as her grandmother escorted her from the room, stealing a last glance at her handsome Lord Lannister.

 

“So,” probed the old schemer. “Dare I ask?”

“No,” said Esme, blushing furiously.

“Good,” said Lady Tyrell with a flourish. “Sons aren’t produced by nights you can tell your grandmother about.”

Esme’s brow furrowed a little. Lady Tyrell and Carlisle saw the world in two very different ways. And Esme agreed with her husband.

 

“Now, if only I could say the same for a certain brother of yours!” clucked Olenna like the angriest of hens. “The Dornish have been promised Isabella Stark’s daughter for Jacob Black and a daughter they’ll have.”

“What if there are no daughters?” asked Esme quietly, lacing her fingers together anxiously.

“Then perhaps they would take a son for their girl, I don’t know,” said Olenna crossly.

“What if there are no children at all?” asked Esme, knowing her brother much better than most.

“Then we are all in a bit of trouble, aren’t we?” muttered Olenna, knowing exactly to what Esme was referring. “So that’s why we need to find- Ah ha!”

 

They had rounded the corner and come across Edward who was looking desolate, staring out to sea as if imagining every feasible way he could drown himself in it.

 

“Lord Tyrell,” said his grandmother, voice colder than winter. “Do I get an explanation for this behaviour?”

“No,” said Edward with a clenched jaw.

It was in times like this that Edward was said to look most handsome but even that fact couldn’t cheer him up on that particular morning.

 

Jacob of Dorne. She’d said she preferred _Jacob of Dorne._ Even if he didn’t love Isabella, Edward still had his pride and his _wife_ had said that she would prefer one of those _dogs._

 

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Esme gently.

“No,” said Edward in the same tone. “It is done.”

 

“No it isn’t,” Olenna muttered darkly, just loud enough for both her grandchildren to hear.

 

“There will be no children!” Edward announced with fitting melodrama.

“A physical impossibility or for want of effort?” asked Olenna sweetly, considering exactly how long Edward had been out on the balcony _thinking._

 

“She doesn’t want to and nor do I,” said Edward bitterly.

“But why-?” began Esme.

 

“You know damn well why!” snapped Edward. “Both of you, and yet still…”

He shook his head in sardonic disbelief.

 

Olenna had had just about enough.

 

“Look,” she snarled. “I know what you are, the same as your father. But he managed to give me two grandchildren. Only _two_. So the both of them had _better get their act together_ or our bloodline will die out!”

 

She started pacing angrily.

 

“Perhaps your particular… _affliction_ is not your fault,” she hissed. “I don’t know. But as the only male Tyrell you _will_ but a baby in the Stark girl somehow.”

 

Esme looked down awkwardly. She knew her poor brother wasn’t really designed for such things…unlike some…

 

Suddenly she remembered the very kind and plausible excuse that Carlisle had given her in case she needed to make a getaway from Olenna. She felt that time may have come.

 

“Pardon me!” she said, interrupting Olenna. “But I think Carlisle may have finished speaking to his father…”

 

She raised her eyebrows apologetically.

 

“Then go you must,” Olenna said without looking at her.

“Perhaps Edward would like to accompany me?” Esme continued bravely. “Carlisle had been wanting a word with Edward about…something”

 

Esme balked at her improvisation.

 

Olenna turned upon Esme, her annoyance presenting itself as a rather uncomfortable pain in her chest.

 

“Then go,” she said, suddenly feeling weak.

 

Esme’s eyes narrowed in concern. 

“Grandmother?” she asked. “Are you feeling quite alright?”

“Yes, yes child,” said Olenna impatiently, waving her hand dismissively. “Our king will die before I do.”

 

And, as was her way with such things, Olenna was correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you for reading!
> 
> So we're at the point now where there will metaphorically be more 'car chases and shit'. When Jasper inherits the throne the dynamics are going to change and the next generation of the Great Houses of Westeros will be introduced - *spoilers* but James Lannister and Victoria Stark was never going to be a good combination!


	10. Chapter 10

The coronation of Jasper Baratheon was a splendid affair. Splendid also were the gifts that the Royal couple received from various Houses to attempt to earn the favour of the new King. However, curiously, one of the gifts bore no crest on it’s wrappings.

 

Jasper took the box warily and opened it. 

 

Inside was a concave piece of rock, around the size of the King’s hand (or his wife’s stomach). It was made from the most enchanting iridescent mineral and Jasper felt instantly drawn to the object, as if it would morph to his own hand. It was only when he turned the gift over to see if he could find out who to thank for it, that he realised what the object was.

 

Horrified, Jasper called for Alice. He’d need her Sight.

 

 

-x-

 

 

 

 

Lateness was never a characteristic of Carlisle’s but, increasingly, he had found himself waiting until the very last moment to answer his father and brother’s summons.

 

He therefore looked sheepish as he entered the Royal council chamber.

 

“I apologise for my lateness,” he said to the King, Queen and his father. “The baby was kicking again. I think we’ve a real feisty one in there!”

Carlisle beamed fondly, thinking of his impending fatherhood.

 

Strangely, his own father did not return the smile. Not even the promise of baby Lannisters could make the day better.

 

The smile slid from Carlisle’s lips.

 

“What’s happened?” he asked urgently, seeing the stony expressions on the gathered faces.

 

Tywin sighed and handed Carlisle the object.

 

“Carlisle,” he said sternly. “With your rather alarming knowledge of trivial things, are you able to identify this?”

 

Carlisle studied the rock interestedly.

 

“I…would have thought…” he began interestedly, weighing it in his hand.

Then he gasped.

“A dragon scale?” he asked, eyes wide with surprise.

 

Tywin nodded.

 

“A fresh dragon scale, correct. And turn it over.”

 

Carlisle obeyed and immediately picked out the feature he was meant to notice.

 

“By the gods!” he gasped as he traced the Targaryn crest etched into the hard, smooth surface, realising the significance.

 

The rumours were true. Jane Targaryn existed. And she had a dragon.

 

And it was a big one.

 

Jasper’s face was marble.

 

“Y-your Majesties,” said Carlisle, addressing his brother and his wife. “Are you certain this is genuine?”

 

“Quite certain,” replied Alice with a frown.

 

If Queen Alice was sure, everyone was.

 

“She has the dragon,” muttered Jasper, with the strange urge to wrench the dragon scale out of his brother’s hands and cradle it against his chest.

 

There was silence as they all contemplated the reality of a situation they had all dared to hope may not be true. But, as Alice could verify, the future had changed. Jane was coming to Westeros.

But not yet.

 

“But she does not yet have the army that she needs,” said Alice confidently.

“Neither do we,” added Carlisle, turning instinctively to his father for guidance.

“Indeed,” replied Tywin. “Therefore…”

 

He sighed, tired, looking suddenly alarmingly _old._

 

“…We need the support of the Dornish,” he continued authoritatively. “Dorne was the only Kingdom that was not defeated by the Targaryn dragons last time so we must ally with them.”

 

All turned to Carlisle. It was diplomacy time.

 

“Carlisle,” said Jasper. “As you are Hand of the King, I think that it must be you that extends the offer of friendship to the Dornish.”

“Agreed,” chirruped Alice.

“And you will be accompanied by Edward Tyrell who will attempt to convince the Dornish that there is a daughter on the way,” said Tywin impatiently. “Though it must be _you_ that does the talking. _That_ is important.”

 

 _“I_ was speaking, Lord Lannister,” said Jasper coldly.

There was a moment of silence tinged with shock.

“So you were, Your Majestly,” said Tywin, bowing to his own son, face unreadable. “Continue.”

 

“You will be accompanied by Lord Tyrell,” repeated Jasper, ignoring the man who had spoken, and was now glaring at him. “And he has been summoned already. You will meet him on the road to Dorne.”

 

Carlisle paused. Without arithmetic, he knew that he would be away too long.

 

“But…” he began slowly. “The baby is due next month…and I promised Esme that I would be with her.”

 

Often childbirth had horrible consequences.

 

Tywin didn’t much care. He’d actually become quite tired of hearing about the young woman who would always be the “Tyrell girl” to him.

 

“That is unimportant,” snapped Tywin, perhaps too harshly. “You bestow upon that girl too much time and attention. You will go to Dorne as you are commanded.”

 

A flicker of anger crossed the younger Lannister’s face for only a moment, but long enough for Jasper to know hat his father was swimming dangerous waters.

 

“Certainly, my Lord,” said Carlisle to his father, knowing he was right, but after he walked away, uninvited, the anger was back.

Back with a passion.

 

However, only the next day, Carlisle bade Esme a reluctant farewell and promised to bring her and the baby a present from Dorne, in lieu of his presence, though he knew that it would never equate. Despite this, Esme agreed that he must go and made him promise to convey her fondest affections to her brother.

 

Her brother.

 

Carlisle suppressed a sigh. Since the wedding, almost a year previously, he had not seen Edward once and frankly the absence of the younger man had not particularly ailed him. And, alas, it was the lack of a Tyrell child for the Dornish that would make their diplomatic mission that much harder.

 

 _Oh well,_ thought Carlisle as he caught sight of the glittering Tyrell party and felt the familiar swoop of fondness as he recognised the glint of the rose banner which would always reming him of his wife.

 

A less fond sight was Edward on horseback looking haughty but, all the same, Carlisle dismounted to greet him.

 

“Lord Tyrell!” he said, extending his hand upwards for Tyrell to shake it. 

 

 _He_ had _not_ dismounted from his horse, a gesture that was really beyond rude.

 

“Lord Lannister,” he said, with his characteristic look of great suffering, though his saddle looked comfortable enough. “To Dorne we ride.”

 

His expression was bleak, much as it should be.

 

“To Dorne,” agreed Carlisle, unsure whether they would ever make it back.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thank you for reading!
> 
> Those of you familiar with Esme's backstory in Twilight will know exactly what is going to happen to her poor little baby, and I'm sorry, but, again, it's important for the plot's progression.
> 
> And also this is a small taster of things to come because, as they say, it has to get worse before it gets better.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Dorne was the very final place that winter managed to creep to and sometimes, if the winter was impatient, not at all.

 

It was therefore in the scorching heat that Lord Lannister and Lord Tyrell journeyed to make peace with the Martell family.

 

Gods help them.

 

At the gate they were met by guards who accompanied them to the Martell family home in Sunspear. They were glared at more with every entitled step they took.

“It feels a little like I’m being arrested,” muttered Edward irritably to his slightly sunburnt brother-in-law, who nodded a little faintly. “Are you sure we were expected?”

 

Lord Tyrell was _particularly_ tired after the journey to Dorne since he had spent, as he would like to think, _countless_ days throwing up on a boat after Carlisle, (with a basic knowledge of Westeros’ geography), decided it would be better to sail to Sunspear from Storm’s End rather than ride.

 

Carlisle shrugged, desperate to both preserve the fragile friendship he had formed with Edward (on the grounds that Carlisle would never, _ever_ speak of the boat journey _ever_ again) and not to offend the Martell family, which was the main aim of the mission.

 

And finally there they were, impressive with their tattooed olive skin and inky black hair. And there were so _many._ Seven sons and one daughter, plus William Bla- er Martell himself. 

 

Carlisle scolded himself for his thought. Addressing Lord Martell by his unflattering nickname by mistake wasn’t a good way to make friends, that was fairly elementary. 

 

He took a deep breath to secure peace between the Dornish and the rest of Westeros. And yes, Tywin Lannister was correct, it _was_ Carlisle that should do the talking - his diplomacy was unparalleled. But Tywin wasn’t there and everybody who had known Edward growing up would have had a fairly good idea of what was to come next.

 

Carlisle opened his mouth to politely greet the Dornish rulers but was very surprised when Edward’s voice came out.

 

“Lords Martell!” the bronze-haired noble said, dipping his head in a bow.

 

There was a rather pronounced, and distinctly female cough from one of the Dornish. Which one though, Edward couldn’t tell…

 

Ah! There she was! He had been thrown by the short hair. How strange.

 

“And _Lady_ Martell,” he continued with his diagnostic smirk.

 

Carlisle winced internally but, instead of running his hand over his face in despair, he reached out to clasp William Martell’s hand.

 

“Lord Martell,” he beagn respectfully. “I am Carlisle Lannister of King’s Landing, formerly of Casterly Rock and this is Edward Tyrell of Highgarden.”

 

Billy surveyed the two nobles with a smooth face.

 

“So you are,” he said in a deep voice, the tone of which was hard to interpret.

 

Carlisle nodded with a smile to the stony faces of William’s children. They did not return it.

 

“Perhaps…” Carlisle started hopefully. “…We could all be acquainted…?”

 

 

-x-

 

 

Many, many miles to the north, Lady Stark sighed contentedly as she nursed her enormously swollen belly, watched proudly by Emmett, Lord Stark, whose gaze seemed to flicker repeatedly away from the long, and really rather pedantic letter from Carlisle explaining his mission to Dorne with Edward Tyrell. Both he and Rosalie laughed when Emmett read that part out loud.

 

“Well I wish him all the luck!”  Rosalie sniggered. “It’s a long journey to Dorne. Especially with that arrogant pig!”

“Aye,” Emmett replied in true Northern fashion, causing Rosalie to be struck again by two thoughts. 

 

One, her husband was extremely handsome, and _two_ that she lived in the _North._ The cold, wet, miserable North, every day becoming more so as winter approached. Hell, it had had the audacity to snow only the previous week. _Snow._

 

Rosalie shivered despite having a reserved place by Winterfell’s large hearth which was undoubtedly the warmest place in the whole castle, the whole North, maybe. She couldn’t possibly be cold.

 

“Another blanket?” asked Emmett, always so attentive.

“Yes,” Rosalie replied with an exaggerated sniff.

 

The North. Cold, dark and _diseased._ Perhaps she was being taken ill? Perhaps she would not _live!_

 

“Still got that cold?” Emmett asked kindly as he draped a blanket over his wife and their unborn baby.

 

Cold?

 

“A _cold?”_ spluttered Rosalie. “I must have pneumonia at least! I have _never_ felt this unwell!”

 

She sniffed again to demonstrate her point and went back, very deliberately, to knitting a warm set of underclothes for her baby. God…to _think!_ Her child, born… _here._

 

Emmett grinned as if he knew what she was thinking.

 

“Cheer up love,” he said, giving her a gentle nudge on the arm.

 

She gave him a withering look but felt better. As long as Emmett was nearby, it wasn’t possible to be _completely_ cold.

 

“I just hope the baby is born before that Esme’s,” Rosalie said conversationally. “Being the second-oldest cousin is no fun at all. I should know.”

 

At that moment a gust of icy wind swept through the room which was the Northern equivalent of an announcing squire. Charlie Stark followed the bitter breeze with an even colder face.

 

“You won’t have to worry about that one, Rose,” he said gravely, brandishing a raven’s scroll. “The Lannister son was born five days ago. Laurent, they called him. But by the evening he had died of lung fever.”

 

There was silence as the three nobles digested this news. Where in other houses there may have been gloating, the Starks saw the death of an infant in any house as a tragedy, even more so if it were Esme and Carlisle’s with a good chance of being brought up as a decent person.

 

Even Rosalie knew it was best to keep quiet. After the news, her cold magically got a bit better and was certainly mentioned a lot less.

 

Poor Esme.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Esme had not been to her childhood home, Highgarden, for almost fifteen years. Indeed, when she had left she had been a child - terrified of the life that would await her with her new husband.

 

She turned to smile at him, and he retuned to action without a question. Because as much as a grin with his wife was instinctive, it was also a happy day. The christening of Renesme Tyrell signalled a new age of peace between the lands of Westeros, or so most thought.

 

 _“Renesme?”_ Tywin Lannister had spluttered. “As in Esme the Tyrell and Renee Stark? What’s her middle name? Long Live The Targaryns?”

 

Carlisle had secretly agreed that perhaps her naming had not been very diplomatic but Starks named their children whatever they damn pleased and after the death of Olenna, Edward Tyrell was head of the family and so few would dispute the name of his daughter.

 

A daughter! At last!

 

The more politically minded in King’s Landing could have wept for joy. Relations with Dorne were to be mended. And not a day too soon.

 

Winter was coming.

 

But then, perhaps that was not the most pressing threat, as the shadow of a dragon was behind the eyes of the nobles every time they blinked. Jane Targaryn was no longer a child. And neither was that beast of hers.

 

But, it was hard to think so darkly on such a beautiful summer’s day. 

 

The previous winter, a decade ago, had been short, only two years, leaving the continent to bask in sunshine and so the next generation of the noble houses had known only light and warmth, even at Winterfell.

 

Esme beamed at her own branch. Her poor little Laurent had never been forgotten by either of his parents, but the ache had been dulled by the presence of four other children, James, Peter, Tanya and Katherine, or Kate, as she preferred…and would _enforce,_ having more the countenance of her aunt Rosalie than her gentle mother. 

 

Rosalie’s own carriage also made for Highgarden. A ‘break from the north’ was decided to be a good idea and so she and Emmett travelled with their own children for civilisation. 

 

The eldest was Alec Stark who took very much after his father in build and countenance and proudly announced to all that he was now fourteen and much better at jousting than his stuck-up cousin James, a year younger, who would rather rip the wings off insects than spend time with a Stark. 

 

Well, that wasn’t strictly true, he and Victoria Stark had decided years ago that they would be married and be very happy - they had promised each other.

 

Victoria was only a little younger than James and stood out for her flaming red hair which Tanya Lannister, in many ways so like her mother, would often admire, so that Victoria wouldn’t feel left out for her strikingly different looks. Peter Lannister, so like his _father,_ would often ask Carlisle (discreetly, of course, as was proper) why she did look so different but Carlisle would never answer.

 

Plus it was important that the Stark and Lannister children got along - Peter’s future betrothal to Charlotte Stark, the only (and really rather lovely) golden-haired Stark, care of her mother, Rosalie, had been casually suggested around many a council table.

 

Her twin, Riley would also make an advantageous marriage, though plans had been ceased owing to the birth of his baby sister, Bree, who now toddled happily around the freezing stone corridors of Winterfell and, to her mother’s horror, declared the various spiders in the rooftops ‘bastards’ which pleased her father no end and, had he survived the last winter, would have pleased Charlie too.

 

The coaches clattered smoothly through the gates of the southern castle within only three day of each other, leaving Highgarden to nervously await the King.

 

King Jasper had proven himself wise and capable during his reign (though how much input from Carlisle was needed we shall never know). However, his affinity for spilling blood had not dimmed and too often, the sounds of screaming could be heard from the great hall as yet another traitor…soldier…assassin…farmer…murderer…housewife…would meet their end by the King’s own sword, rather than that of his executioner, an executioner that Jasper took everywhere, as a kind of token. The executioner journeyed even to Highgarden, which frankly scared that gentle folk there who feared executioners as much as a bad smell.

 

Queen Alice, who would have indulged her husband the entire continent to murder, had it made him happy, was often too lost in her own tangled mind to notice how the the kingdom feared them and was content to spoil the heir to the throne, Aro with all the gifts and superstitious nonsense in Westeros.

 

Perhaps with such a group of people, Alice’s visions would not be needed to predict the disaster that was surely coming so it was with trepidation that Edward and Isabella, now on tentative speaking terms since they now had to raise a child together, brought the squirming bundle out for the royals to see.

 

“Your Graces,” Edward said softly so as not to undo the hours of work it took to get the baby to finally sleep. “Our daughter, Lady Renesme Tyrell.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This should pick up momentum again and I'm sorry for the delay :)

Laughter filled the great hall at Highgarden as the nobles dined. The Tyrell family were the second wealthiest in Westeros (after the Lannisters) and feasting was seen as a good way to pass the time.

 

Alice sat, of course, beside her husband at the main table facing those noblemen and women less noble than themselves, the ‘rabble’, to which they were sometimes referred. But the rabble were really quite interesting.

 

 _When he goes home, the man closest to the fire is going to be told by his wife that she’s expecting a baby. It will be their first, a boy named Sam,_ she thought happily.

 

_And there, midway down the table is the bastard son of one of the Kingsguard, though he doesn’t know it, who will find out after the royal party has left that his father could have stood next to him at the…at the…at the…_

 

“And where does his Lordship think he’s going?” Rosalie asked irritatedly from beside Alice, who had gone extremely quiet all of a sudden.

 

Rosalie still held a grudge against Edward for his lack of interest in her (a whole fifteen years ago).

 

“To speak with the stable master, I should think,” Isabella said, carelessly, as Edward left the table without a word. “He wants to organise a hunt or something.”

 

Rosalie harrumphed and turned back to Emmett whose tiny but feisty daughter was being fed marzipan by Esme and Carlisle and was, infuriatingly, behaving a lot better for her aunt and uncle than her parents.

 

The rest of the children were seated at one of the long tables below that of the parents, so that they could be supervised. Despite the frivolity around him, it was Jasper, who did so.

 

He saw Peter Lannister and Charlotte Stark whispering to one another. He saw his own son, Aro, telling Tanya, Katherine and Alec what was no doubt some wild tale of mythical beasts…

 

…And he saw James Lannister and Victoria Stark discreetly leave the table and slip out of the room.

 

He turned to tell this to his wife, but realised that she couldn’t see the tables in front of her. The Queen’s eyes had become unfocused and she still as a wax replica.

 

“Alice!” Jasper hissed quietly, taking his wife’s hand. “What is it? What do you see?”

 

Her head snapped around, scanning the children’s table.

 

“Where are Victoria and James?” she asked, panicked. “We have to stop them!”

 

-x-

 

 

“This way ‘Toria!” commanded James as he headed for the stables. “Let me show you my new mount. My grandfather bought him for me. And about bloody time.”

 

He laughed.

 

“Tight-fisted, mean old man.”

 

The two children whooped with glee as they sped away from the restraints of their families. It really had been too long since they’d had time with each other.

 

Arriving laughing and breathless at the stables, James waved the stable hand away carelessly and wrestled with the horse himself.

 

“Tah dah!” he sang, offering Victoria the reigns.

 

“Beautiful, my Lord,” Victoria answered with mocking in her accompanying smile. “Shame I could out-ride you.”

 

James smirked.

 

“Now that, my Lady, sounds like a challenge,” James swung himself into his saddle - stitched with red and gold proclaiming his Lannister glory.

 

Seizing another of the horses, Victoria mounted, without a care as to who the animal belonged to. With identical smiles of exhilaration, the pair galloped out of the keep and into the fields that surrounded the castle.

 

“See that old well over there?” James called as they sped through a copse of trees and past some peasant dwellings. “I heard a boy _died_ once by drowning in it. Just think, someone could kill cousin Aro the same way by telling him there were grumpkins and snarks at the bottom of it!”

 

Victoria shrieked with laughter.

 

“And then I’d be the heir to the throne, which is what grandfather wants, I think. He doesn’t like the Baratheons.”

 

“Ugh!” Victoria moaned, bored by the tiresomeness of the royal family. “Who _does?”_

 

“I’d have thought Jane Targaryn,” James said loftily. “Her brother is making things easy for her by sitting idle and listening to my father whisper ‘negociation’ in his ear instead of attacking her army! I heard she had ten thousand Dothraki Screamers and eight thousand Unsullied!”

 

“But she isn’t Jasper’s sister, is she?” asked Victoria.

 

James laughed.

 

“Not _officially,_ but…we all know the truth.”

 

Before Victoria could answer, James was already riding away in the direction of the Highgarden watchtower.

 

“Come on, ‘Toria!” We could see all of Westeros from up there!”

 

“I think that’s bit high for your mother’s liking, James,” Victoria said, squinting up at the building though the steadily approaching darkness of the summer evening.

 

He laughed.

 

“The Red Keep’s _apple tree_ is ‘too high for my mother’s liking’,” he drawled with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Honestly, sometimes I wish her first-born would have lived, then she could have fussed over him instead of me. She really is embarrassing sometimes.”

 

“But how would you have been heir to the throne then?” Victoria teased.

 

 _“Second_ heir, Victoria,” he corrected jovially. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

 

He stopped his horse for a second and thought.

 

“Well…I suppose…” he began with a twinkle of something more than mischief in his eyes. “Perhaps Laurent may have had an interest in the bottom of wells too.”

 

“But you for high places?” asked Victoria, casting her eyes suggestively up the side of the tower.

 

“I _deserve_ high places,” he drawled. “Watch.”

 

He hopped down from his horse.

 

“Victoria,” he announced. “If I make it to the highest window you have to marry me.”

 

“I hope you’re confident then,” she countered playfully to disguise her sudden hurt. “I…I thought we _were_ getting married.”

 

James shrugged.

 

“I’m not so sure,” he said carelessly, blind to her concern as he plotted his route up the tree and across the big branch onto the wall of the building. “I think father wants me to marry Leah Martell,”

 

Victoria froze and scowled.

 

“Leah _Martell?_ Of _Dorne?”_ she spat.

 

James shrugged again as his foot found the first branch in the twilight.

 

“Why not me?” Victoria asked, puzzled. 

 

“Apparently she’s the next eligible Lady, aside from your sister, who I refused to marry because she’s a bore like mother,” James explained.

 

“Why not me?” Victoria repeated, a little more angrily.

 

“Let me climb and it will be you!” James called with a laugh at the stupidity of girls. “I’m thirteen, nearly a man grown and so I get to decide who my bride will be.”

 

Though cheered by James’ conviction, Victoria still felt uneasy. She was the eldest Stark girl, why in seven hells shouldn’t she _not_ marry James the eldest Lannister boy? It would make perfect sense!

 

As James found his footing, he didn’t share Victoria’s concern. He was thinking about the Iron Throne. It was his obsession.

 

 _And my right,_ he thought as he heaved himself higher.

 

James was remarkably similar to King Jasper, he often wondered (and knew that others wondered too) if Carlisle was his father after all…and not merely his _uncle._

 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of fighting, two men fighting.

 

Two men fighting? In the _watchtower?_

 

James was immediately intrigued.

 

He shared with his desired bride-to-be a thirst for violence and was driven onwards towards the highest window by the prospect of blood.

 

However, creeping closer, James did not find the source of the noise to be what he expected. He gaped.

 

Even with his rather shielded upbringing, James knew exactly what Edward Tyrell was doing with that other man.

 

He turned excitedly to Victoria who was watching from below trying to work out what intrepid James had discovered.

 

“Edward Tyrell is _fucking_ the stable boy!” he mouthed.

 

Her face lit up with excitement.

 

James watched fascinated as Edward Tyrell allowed the other man to clamber on top of him like an animal and-

 

James turned, wracked with silent laughter and rather crudely mimed what was going on with his fingers.

 

Victoria mimed a gleeful gag. _Fucking_ another man! And a _commoner!_ This was brilliant! Just wait until her mother found out! They’d have Tyrell in the Stocks in no time, bruised behind out for all to see.

 

James turned back and peered in again, disgust and fascination battling for supremacy in his warped mind. In actual fact, the victor was, again, amusement and, despite his best efforts, he laughed.

 

This caused him to wobble alarmingly and he had to grab the window sill to keep himself from falling off the narrow ledge.

 

The sight of the pale hand was not missed by the blissful Edward Tyrell who enjoyed looking poetically out into the night as he lost himself in the touch of another man.

 

“Michael! Stop!” he ordered and, rather reluctantly, the stable boy withdrew.

“Ed, what’s the matter?” he asked worriedly.

 

Edward never changed his mind, not at that point.

 

“Someone’s at the window!” the nobleman gasped.

 

Still naked, he strode to the window, knowing that his life, and Michael’s, may now be in danger.

 

James couldn’t scramble down fast enough and Edward saw him.

 

“You!” he spat, meeting the eyes of his least favourite nephew.

“Yes me!” the boy replied arrogantly. “And get your filthy hands off me, now I know where they’ve been!”

 

Edward then became frightened. James had seen them and he would tell…

 

…Well he’d tell whoever would hurt Edward the most.

 

“I can’t believe I share your blood!” sneered James, as the now-hidden Victoria sent silent waves of encouragement. “You filthy pillow-biter. I will have you hanged for this! And your little commoner whore!”

 

Too far. 

 

Because whatever people may say about Edward, he did have the capacity to love people other than himself and he loved Michael Newton.  And Michael Newton the lowly stable boy loved him too, with the same ferocity, perhaps, as he had come to hate the young Lord Lannister who liked to torture the horses.

 

He’d always hated James, the evil little shit. So in a moment of madness, Michael sprinted forwards in nude splendour and pushed the boy and with a kind of strange release, watched the result of his action play out.

 

James Lannister fell. 

 

James Lannister hit the ground. 

 

James Lannister died.


	14. Chapter 14

 

Emmett and Carlisle climbed the steps to Isabella’s chambers. The crying of Renesmee could be heard from many twists and turns away.

 

 _That must be driving the guards mad,_ thought Emmett as they approached his sister’s temporary prison.

 

The knights of the Kingsguard outside the door shifted warily as the nobles approached, but, as per their king’s orders, they let them through without question.

 

“My lords,” Isabella said, with uncharacteristic shakiness as she rose from the bed with her daughter. 

 

She looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink.

 

“Bells!” Emmett cried, engulfing her with a hug as she wrestled to keep the baby from being smothered by his bulk.

 

Isabella drew back to eye Carlisle.

 

“Lord Lannister,” she said quietly, bowing her head. 

 

She didn’t know quite what to say so settled upon nothing.

 

“Lady Tyrell,” he replied stiffly.

 

“I’m very sorry, my Lord,” she said quietly.

 

“It was not your doing,” Carlisle said evenly. “Nor that of your daughter, nor of your husband.”

 

“What is to become of him?” Isabella asked, with an urgency that surprised her.

 

“Your husband has agreed to take the black,” Emmett explains. “He leaves for Castle Black tomorrow.”

 

“And the…?”

 

“Michael Newton will face trial this evening,” Carlisle told her flatly.

 

“I ought to be present,” Bella muttered, wringing her hands where they were clasped around her baby. “I ought to visit Edward, I suppose.”

 

“I…don’t think that is a good idea,” Emmett said gently.

 

“Lady Tyrell, we have agreed safe passage for you and your daughter to Dorne on the condition that you wed Jacob Martell,” said Carlisle with control. “I would suggest you take this option.”

 

She turned to her brother.

 

“Why must we? she asked.

 

Emmett put his big hand on his sister’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

 

“Because a lot of people are angry, Bella,” he said as softly as he could. “Tywin Lannister’s calling for your head. And Renesmee’s.”

 

Instinctively Bella held her daughter a little closer.

 

“What about the North?” she asked, a little more desperately. “Couldn’t we live with you?”

 

Emmett looked sheepish for a moment but Carlisle spoke before he could explain Rosalie’s new hatred for Isabella, thanks to the state Victoria was now in.

 

“You’ll need Dorne’s independence,” he explained. “My father and brother have influence throughout the rest of the seven kingdoms.”

 

“What about _your_ influence?”

 

Isabella immediately regretted what she had said. She was lucky he hadn’t run her through for what had happened to her son.

 

But Lord Lannister was nothing like his father.

 

Carlisle put a hand on Isabella’s shoulder, to replace Emmett’s which had gone back to it’s normal position at the hilt of his sword.

 

“Esme and I don’t want to see you, or your baby harmed,” he said truthfully, though evasively. “I suggest you journey to Dorne."

 

He shared a look with Emmett.

 

"And I suggest you do it soon.”


End file.
